


The Love You Make

by Rioviolina



Category: The Beatles
Genre: #mention of non-consensual sex#mention of violence#mention of drug dealing#mention of depression#, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-26
Updated: 2018-12-05
Packaged: 2019-01-23 14:18:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 60
Words: 266,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12509340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rioviolina/pseuds/Rioviolina
Summary: A continuation of Got to Get you Into my Life





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a re-post as for some reason depending on your time line this has only appeared on half of A03.  
> If you enjoyed how Got to get you into my life ended, don't read!!

Summary:

An A.U. involving John and Paul.....a follow-up to Got to get you into my Life  
Notes:

So...for the many readers who asked for more of this A.U. John and Paul, here we go. These two, and all the other characters involved in Got to get you into my Life, will not lie down. This will probably be stand alone chapters..not yet sure...but I have LOTS of ideas. For new readers, you will need to have read Got to get you into my Life, or it will not make much sense.  
For those of you who liked how I finished the original fic...don't read these!!  
The first story will be concerned with establishing a setting approximately two months after the end of the last fic. I have tried to do some research, but please don't hold me to any legal facts...this is fiction.  
Enjoy!  
Work Text:

John had run his fingers through his hair so many times it was now sticking up in multiple directions. Added to the somewhat frantic expression on his face, the furrowed brow, and the horn-rimmed glasses perching on the end of his nose, through which angry, narrowed amber eyes peered, he presented a rather scary figure.  
Fortunately, Jacob was not fazed by any of this. He had experienced far worse in his job that day as a lawyer. While he gave John time to simmer down he loosened his tie slightly, and slipped off the jacket of his expensive suit. At the moment John's mouth was opening and closing like a goldfish gasping for air. Jacob sipped his coffee and waited for John to get himself together. Behind him, in the kitchen, he could hear Rob opening and closing the cupboards...he was supposed to be making a meal but Jacob knew, with a wry smile, that really Rob was hovering listening to his conversation with John. Obviously, thought a small part of Jacob's brain...which was well trained in dealing with many issues at once...it would probably be HIM that ended up making the evening meal. Jacob crossed one leg over the other, and looked back at John encouragingly. It would be far better for John to raise all his frustrations with him than with any one else...at least Jacob could offer comprehensive answers.  
Finally John burst out, slamming his fist down on the table, making Jacob's coffee mug bounce slightly "It's so fucking unfair!!"  
Jacob calmly moved his mug to a safer part of the table. Behind him the sound of cupboard doors had stopped being opened, and he was fairly sure Rob was also listening for his reply.  
"It may seem unfair, John, but, in reality, Paul has got off very lightly."  
John's face flooded with colour. "But..it wasn't his fault. Luke made him.."  
Jacob butted in gently. "John...if Paul had been a minor when he began doing the drops we would be facing a different scenario, but he was eighteen...an adult in the eyes of the law. Old enough to know what he was doing."  
"But..but he .."  
"Didn't have a lot of choice..yes, I know. That has been taken into account." Jacob took another sip of his coffee, and could sense Rob listening behind the half-open kitchen door.  
John was so frustrated he was almost in tears. Jacob tried to keep his replies calm...he hoped he could get John to understand Paul had really got off very lightly. Jacob sighed, and leaned forward into John's line of vision, piercing him with his eyes.  
"Class A drugs, John, carry a life sentence...for dealing in them, for selling them. The law doesn't look kindly on dealers. Paul could have faced a much harder sentence than he's been given. They couldn't, to be honest, have passed a lighter one than they have. They took mitigating circumstances into account."  
John heaved for breath, his mind in a whirlwind. "After everything fuckin' Luke fuckin' did, an'..."  
Jacob's words were quiet. "They know, John...they know what Paul went through...but it still remains that he dealt in drugs. The law can't move the goalposts to suit everyone. Seriously...you've got the best that you could for him. You need to be there to support him, and just help him get through this year. He's got a good probation officer....I know the guy well, and he'll do his level best with Paul, you can be sure of that. After all Paul has been through over the last few years, he's going to need some rehabilitation...someone to help him fit back into society and able to put everything behind him and pick up his life."  
John blinked owlishly at Jacob, hanging onto every word.  
Jacob gave a warm smile. "You've a very talented boyfriend there. I'm sure between you and the probation officer and the help of other friends you'll be able to help him turn his life around. He's only twenty two..he's got a lot of life ahead of him. You both have."  
John appeared almost dazed. He had so many questions to ask. "But..the teaching..he ..can he still do it? I mean..a criminal record? Can he still be cleared to teach? And work? Will the hospital still have him?"  
Jacob drew a deep breath. There would be problems..of that he was all too aware. Already he and Rob had paid for the best lawyer they knew to defend Paul's case...that was something they had not disclosed to John, and didn't intend to. But there would be difficulties ahead, Jacob knew without doubt. Paul would be heading back out into the world with a criminal record and not many people would stop and look at the reason why. It was very likely he would have a few tough times ahead, and Jacob strongly hoped that John and all his other friends would be there to support him.  
"I'm on to the CRB clearance at the moment, and I don't foresee any problems " phew..deep breath there, Jacob...it was a mountainous hurdle " and of course the hospital aren't going to throw him out. They may well have to find him an alternative post though, as I don't see him being able to do anything very physical for a while."  
"Like what?"  
Jacob gave an elegant shrug. "I don't know, but..he's quite a bright lad, isn't he? I'm sure they'll find something for him. At the moment, what is far more important...what address are you giving to the police for him?"  
John started, surprised. "I..I don't know" he looked urgently at Jacob. "Hadn't thought. We need a permanent one, don't we?"  
"You need one where he is going to be at night after curfew. It really doesn't matter if it's George's or Ritchie's...but you need to decide, and then stick to it."  
"I guess Ritchie, then..if he doesn't mind. There's more room."  
"Have you asked him?"  
"Er..no...didn't think."  
Jacob smiled encouragingly. "Well..I'm not surprised. You've had other things on your mind, haven't you? Paul will be released tomorrow, and you need to have all these kind of things sorted. Check with Ritchie, and make sure he's happy with the arrangement."  
John nodded, looking rather gobsmacked. Jacob gave a sigh internally. When brushes with the law happened it always took people by surprise, and oftimes it was difficult to get across to those involved how definite they needed to be over small things...like addresses.  
"It's important, John. You need to have Ritchie's agreement."  
"Yeah. Yeah, I'll..I'll do that." John felt drained. It had been such an exhausting few days. If he could have done something to help Paul...he'd felt so frustrated knowing that Paul was standing accused of dealing in Class A drugs. John had just wanted to get hold of everyone and crack their heads together. How could they? How dare they accuse Paul after everything...after everything...John sank his head into his hands, and rubbed his eyes wearily.  
"S'just not fucking fair" he muttered from behind his fingers.  
Jacob shook his head. "No, it isn't. But it's as fair as we can make it." He pushed his chair back from the table, and heard a movement in the kitchen. He hid a smile. Rob would, no doubt, have heard everything. "Text Ritchie about Paul living there. You need his agreement. It's important, John."  
John nodded wearily.  
Jacob stood up, gathering up his jacket. "Well..hope you'll excuse me.." Jacob just about stifled a yawn.."..It's been a long day. So....don't forget, John...check with Ritchie..it's important." The next yawn escaped without Jacob being able to stop it. He smiled apologetically.." Sorry.."  
John's face suddenly lit up in a smile. He stood up swiftly, extending his hand to Jacob.  
"It's okay...I've taken up so much time.."  
"..no, no..it's fine.."  
"I have. Thanks...on behalf of Paul an' me...thanks."  
Jacob shook John's profferred hand. "I wish you both well. I'm sure it will all turn out fine. You know you can always call on me for help."  
"Yeah. I'll..I'll text Ritchie now."  
"Aren't you going back there?"  
John gave a rueful grin. "Yeah, but I've got so much on me mind I might forget."  
Rob emerged from the kitchen. Jacob threw him a knowing glance which he ignored.  
He homed in on John. "So, John, d'you need tomorrow off to go collect Paul?"  
John, his mobile in hand, looked up in surprise at seeing Rob in front of him.  
"Oh! Oh, God, yeah..if I can. Or at least the afternoon."  
"Take the day" Rob said magnaminously, waving his hand. "Least I can do to help. You might have a few things to sort out. How y' gettin' there?"  
John thought swiftly. "Er..train, probably. It's not far."  
"Sure?"  
John nodded emphatically. "Yeah, I'm sure. There's a regular service from Lime Street. I've used it when I've visited Paul."  
Rob's face softened. "How's he doing?"  
John thought about it. How was Paul doing? He didn't feel he'd been able to talk freely to Paul without warders watching them. He'd longed to take Paul into his arms...to comfort him..just to hold him. It hurt John so much to be so near to him but unable to touch him. And how did Paul feel? Hell..he didn't know. He'd not been free to ask him. Paul had withdrawn into himself. It was what he did...he'd thrown up a protective shield. He talked to John when John visited, but he'd been reserved. John couldn't wait to get him back home...have him to himself again. Get back the young man he'd fallen for.  
Rob noted the silence. The emotions running through John. He reached out and patted John's arm.  
"You'll soon have him back, eh?"  
John started. Jesus, where had his mind gone? He nodded. "Yeah..soon have him back."

John realised he must be stressed. He'd probably been stressed for a while. Seriously stressed. He felt as if his eyes were being pulled from his head, as if he was glaring at the world through his glasses. Maybe he was....people did seem to be looking at him strangely and then avoiding him. His mind was buzzing. Literally buzzing. A weird sound in his head. He felt as if he'd been wired to something. So many things to remember. So many questions being asked of him. He'd moved through the day as if in a sort of nightmare he couldn't escape from. His mind tried to make a list of his actions. Train. Lime Street to Warrington. A breezy September day. First few leaves fluttering down. The gates at the probation centre being opened. Forms to be filled in. Responsibility. Who was taking responsibility for Paul? He was? Shit...he didn't know...wait. Be definite. Look sensible or they might not let Paul go. Address? Yes..he had that sorted. His confidence gave a sudden leap when he gave Ritchie's address. Curfew? Yes, that he understood. Hospital appointments? Yup...he could deal with that. Gradually John began to relax, and then, finally, a door he'd not noticed before opened, and Paul was escorted by a warden into the room. John stood up as Paul entered...for one brief second no-one else in the room existed for John. Paul's eyes sought John out, and a faint smile touched his face. John drank in the sight of his boyfriend hungrily.  
"That is all the formalities. Mr. McCartney will need to report to his probation officer tomorrow morning, and a schedule will be worked out to suit all involved parties. He will need accompanying. Can I ask who will be doing that?"  
The words ran through John's ears and out again...all he could think of was Paul. The warden cleared his throat, and repeated the question.  
Fuck, thought John...I'm gonna have to beg for more time off. He knew, though, without doubt, Rob would let him have it.  
"Er, I will." Don't blow it, John, he chided himself. Stay acting responsible.  
The warden passed over a sheaf of papers to John, looking closely at him as if to emphasise their importance.  
"These need to be passed to the probation officer at tomorrow's meeting. Finally, I just need you to sign that I have passed Mr. McCartney into your safekeeping and that it is your sole responsibility to convey him to the address you have provided us with and that you are aware of the curfew placed upon said person."  
John had a hundred and one quips he would like to have come out with, but none would have been suitable. Signing for Paul!! Yeah..he could do that. Finally, they were out the door, accompanied to the barred gates. The envelope containing the sheaf of papers was put into John's hands, the gates opened, and they were through. Beside him, John heard Paul draw a deep breath. John was aware of eyes still upon them as the gates closed. He took Paul's arm and steered him in the direction of the taxi rank.  
As Paul slid into the back seat of the car, John leaned over to the taxi driver.  
"Station, please" he instructed, and followed Paul into the car.

To be so near, yet feeling unable to touch him. So many eyes watching them. Well...maybe they weren't, but John felt as if they were. He'd already purchased a single ticket for Paul to travel on the train, and he had the return stub of his own in his jacket pocket. As they moved from taxi to station to platform to train John was strongly aware of Paul next to him. They'd exchanged hardly any words yet. John felt the weight of responsibility upon him as like never before...it was his place to get Paul back to Ritchie's..the law required him to do this, and not have Paul out on the streets after dark. As he determinedly negotiated Paul and himself through other travellers, he could feel Paul's eyes turning to survey him occasionally. He wanted nothing more than to sit down and rediscover Paul, but for now he just had to get him back. Back home. He couldn't relax until he had. The commuter train was busy. Typical, John thought. There was one free seat. He pointed it out to Paul.  
"Go sit down"  
Paul looked at him curiously. "I can stand...I'm okay."  
"No...just..sit, please, Paul" John beseeched. He was only too aware of the fact Paul was still, as yet, recovering. They had said it would take a while...maybe six months or more before Paul was fully healed.  
Paul heaved a sigh and sank down. John stood against the seat, glaring at the rather obese person next to Paul who was quietly reading the Liverpool Echo, glaring at others around him who caused him to move occasionally so they could get past. Christ...was the journey from Warrington to Liverpool always this crowded? Inwardly he was huffing and puffing, then he suddenly froze...fingers were gently tracing the back of his knee...running a tiny path up and down, hidden beneath his coat...he glanced down and met Paul's eyes, which were glinting mischievously. John let go a load of pressure and relaxed. He smiled down at Paul, and was met by an answering smile. The crowded train compartment no longer seemed as crowded. The obese guy next to Paul was just some jolly chubby guy on his way home. The world was suddenly right again.

"Paul!!" Ritchie's cheerful voice rang out as they entered the little parlour. A wealth of familiar smells hit Paul. It had been so long since he'd been here..it had been...it was...shit...the day he and Ritchie had been attacked. Three months. Three long long months.  
Ritchie emerged from the kitchen, his face wreathed in smiles.  
"Look at you! Jesus..you look so much better."  
John blinked. He'd not really thought about it but..yeah..yeah, Paul did look better.  
Paul flashed him a brilliant smile, and for a second Ritchie was taken aback...he'd forgotten how Paul's smiles lit up everything within a six mile radius.  
"George said he's gonna come round as soon as he's finished .. he hopes to get off early. How y' feeling?"  
"Good, ta...yeah. I'm fine."  
Ritchie's eyes drank in the sight of Paul. There had been an awful moment when they thought they'd lost him.  
"Ah..look at me..forgetting me hostess skills. Want a cup of tea..or can I tempt you to have a beer?"  
Paul raised his eyebrows.."Ooh..beer, please. Just one, though...haven't had a drink for..for...ages" he finished lamely.  
Ritchie could hardly take his eyes off Paul...it seemed amazing that they had him back and he was standing here, in Ritchie's little house, again.  
He shook his head bemusedly. "It's just..good to have y' back, mate."  
John shook himself. Maybe it was all the stress he'd been under. He really ought to be celebrating with Paul like Ritchie was. As Ritchie moved into the kitchen, John stepped up to Paul. He almost felt like a stranger to him. Maybe this was normal. Maybe others felt like this. After all, they'd been apart for a while now...they needed to get to know each other again. But, oddly enough, Paul didn't seem to be feeling awkward. He'd moved naturally enough around John. In fact, he seemed to be hovering in John's vicinity deliberately, as if waiting. John screwed his face up. The problem was his...not Paul's. He didn't know how to act around Paul...fuck..he'd not thought there'd be a problem.  
He touched Paul's arm, and Paul turned expectantly, his eyes hopeful, a smile touching the corner of his lips.  
John indicated his coat. "Can I 'ave y'coat, love...I'll hang it up"  
John saw a shadow cross Paul's face, but nonetheless he slipped it off, passing it to John, his fingers lingering slightly as they connected with John's.  
John felt as if he was being restrained by someone...or something. He wished he could shake it off. Now here was Ritchie, bringing in beers, treating Paul as he always had, and here was Paul, responding, chatting away as if everything was normal. John groaned inwardly as he hung Paul's coat in the closet. What the fuck was the matter with him? He'd got his boyfriend back, hadn't he? That's what he'd been waiting for..surely?  
Over the meal the conversation was dominated by Ritchie. John could feel Paul glancing quizzically at him from time to time but he avoided Paul's eyes. He didn't know why.  
Then George arrived, and everything went up a notch. George had arrived with a box of chocolates for Paul, which he enthusiastically shared around, and Ritchie opened more beers, which Paul first declined and then changed his mind. George came with a fistful of stories from the restaurant, and Ritchie had even more to tell about the hospital. Paul asked questions about everyone he knew, anxious to catch up on the news. John watched him from where he sat on the edge of the circle. He felt out of it, watching the three friends laughing and talking. He was tired. So tired. Not physically...not really, only a bit. It was mentally...mentally so drained. It had all been such a worry. There had been scary times, like thinking Paul might not pull through...then the prosecution...John's mind was a whirlwind..he'd been stressed. So so stressed. And now, when he finally had Paul back, he didn't know what to do. How to cope. How to handle it.  
"Are y'okay John?" It was George's voice. John started abruptly.  
"Huh? What? Oh..yeah. Yeah, fine. Sorry. Miles away."  
He could feel Paul's eyes upon him.' Christ, John, just look at him. What the fuck's wrong with y'?' But he couldn't. His eyes were on his feet. On his hands. Anywhere except on Paul. The conversation became quieter. George yawned, then Ritchie followed. They both burst out laughing. George stood up.  
"Well, I'm gonna head off. Good to have y' back, mate." he said to Paul.  
Ritchie stood also to show George out, then put his head round the parlour door to say he was heading off to bed. He closed the door gently behind him, and the parlour became quiet. John was still sitting there, gazing into space. Paul cleared his throat, shifting awkwardly, suddenly unsure. He'd been so longing to get back to John, but...a nervous thought struck him..maybe John didn't want him any more? Maybe..after everything that had happened..John had changed his mind?  
The silence grew, and Paul began to nervously chew at the skin around his thumb. This was difficult. This was embarrassing. He had to do something...something...  
"John?"  
John continued to gaze into the distance.  
Paul tried again. "John?"  
John blinked, his thoughts miles away. He turned his head slowly to look at Paul. "Yeah?"  
"I..I'm quite tired. Shall we go to bed?" As soon as Paul said it, he coloured. Would John think that really forward of him? Maybe John was no longer planning to sleep with him? Paul chewed his lip...for a brief moment he could wish he was back at the detention centre.  
John tried so hard to give himself a mental shake. He could see Paul's worry. For Godsake, John, just comfort him, he chided himself.  
"Yeah..sure. You head up, I'll follow in a moment."  
Paul rose quietly from the seat. John heard the door close behind him. He put his head in his hands. "What the fuck's the matter with me?" he muttered.  
"Stress" said a quiet voice. John looked up sharply. Ritchie had appeared noiselessly into the room.  
"I thought you'd gone to bed?"  
"An' I thought summat was up with you. I was waiting for Paul to go up before I came back down to talk to y'"  
John sought Ritchie's eyes in dismay. "Paul must think I'm a shit, but..I dunno what to do. I feel like someone's rung me out so there's nothing left."  
"You've been through a lot, son...seen it happen to others at the hospital...when everything's up in the air people cope. Adrenalin keeps 'em goin'...then when it calms down they flip. Just try an' relax."  
"I can't."  
"Y' can. Paul needs y'...."  
"I know" John almost wailed, feeling so guilty over his behaviour.  
Ritchie smiled softly "Hey..y' not on your own with this, y' know. Me an' George'll help."  
John nodded. "I know y' will. I'm just so..so tired."  
"Paul probably is as well. It's been a big day for him too, finally getting out. Why don't y' go and say hello properly to him?"  
John heaved a sigh. "Is this what guys comin' back from the war felt like?"  
Ritchie smiled in amusement. "What?"  
"Well...y' know..they probably couldn't wait to come home then when they do it's like..things have changed...life's moved on, an' it's as if there's an invisible barrier there in the relationship..like y' strangers."  
Ritchie's smile dropped. "Who are y' talkin' about in this respect? You...or Paul? Cause I don't sense Paul has changed."  
John met Ritchie's eyes. They were serious. "Me, I guess. I couldn't wait to get him back...I've been livin' with the whole idea for ages..an' now I've got him I...I dunno what to do."  
Ritchie's face was suddenly hard. He stood up and addressed John firmly.  
"I wouldn't have thought it of you, John. For Chrissake, Paul's been through enough. The last thing he needs is you gettin' cold feet over your relationship. Just build a bridge an' fuckin' get over it. "  
Ritchie exited the room, slamming the door behind him.  
John had no idea how long he'd sat there, his mind mulling over things. He heard the buzz of the refrigerator switch on in the kitchen, and the ticking of the clock on the mantelpiece. Normal, everyday sounds that he didn't usually notice.Finally he stood up, summoning his courage and strength. Ritchie was right...he needed to do this. Making his way upstairs, his feet felt like lead, each step an effort. He opened the bedroom door quietly and in the darkness could see the shape of Paul lying in the bed, his back turned to the door. Something told John he wasn't asleep. On the chair up the corner Paul had neatly folded his clothes, leaving a space for John to put his, as they had always done. It was that expectation that hit John. That they would be sharing again. He sighed and slipped as silently as possible out of his clothes, making a pile next to Paul's. He lifted the covers and slid into the bed. For a moment he lay there, rigid, on his back. He could hear Paul breathing, but it was not the breath of sleep. Paul was alert, of that John was sure. After a few seconds the warmth of Paul's body began to spread to John's chilled limbs, and he turned his head on the pillow. A familiar smell met him. John could never decide what Paul smelt of, but it was his smell..his scent..John inhaled deeply. He chided himself to make an effort, and reached his left hand down, gently brushing Paul's hip as he did so. Paul shifted, as if startled, but didn't respond. John brought his hand back up, turned on his side, and in one swift movement slung his right arm around Paul's waist, drawing him to him, spooning him as they had done so often. He felt Paul's breathing hitch slightly, then Paul was squirming in his arms, turning to face John, his eyes glittering dark in the unlit room. There was a frown on his brow.  
"John?"  
John gave him a squeeze. Oh to feel that body under his hands again. He felt tears start to his eyes.  
"I'm sorry" he mumbled into Paul's chest "I've been a prick. Just..didn't know how to cope."  
Paul's fingers began to rake through John's hair. He shut his eyes, alarmed to discover tears were trickling down his cheeks.  
"S'okay...s'alright..it's been hard, I know..I just wasn't sure if..if you felt different. If you still..wanted me."  
John squeezed Paul as hard as he could...words were not enough.  
"Of course I still want y', y' silly sod."  
He felt Paul snuggle closer in, his breath ghosting John's ear.  
"M' glad...just..happy to be back, y'know."  
Paul yawned widely, all his worries, for the moment, lifted. John's arm snaked around his shoulders, pulling him close.  
"I've missed you so much" John whispered.  
Paul's breath was warm upon his chest. "I've missed you too."  
For the moment all they needed was each other, wrapped in one another's arms, and sleep followed close behind.

The probation officer glanced down at the envelope John handed him, and indicated with a nod of his head the two chairs on the other side of the desk. Paul sat down, nervous, his hands stuffed in his coat pocket, his eyes anxiously watching as the officer read the enclosed documents. John sat down more slowly, aware of Paul's flight mode. He gave him an encouraging smile that Paul didn't answer. After a good five minutes more of silence, the officer looked up, a slight smile on his face.  
"Mr. Lennon? Mr. McCartney?"  
John pulled the woolly hat from off his head. "I'm Mr. Lennon...John..." he added. He didn't feel old enough yet to be addressed by his surname.  
"Ah..so..." he turned to look at Paul who was chewing his lip " Mr. McCartney, I assume."  
Paul's eyes flew wide open, startled at being addressed by his surname. A glance at the documentation had already given the probation officer an idea of what he might be dealing with, and he understood why he'd been chosen for this particular case. He moved gently, addressing Paul.  
"I'm Probation Officer Warren, but you may call me Steve. It's my job to guide you over the next year...see you fully rehabilitated back into society. We will see quite a lot of each other to begin with. Occasionally you may meet another of my colleagues, but we work very hard to build a relationship, so most of the time it will be me."  
He turned to speak to John. "I understand that you are taking responsibility for Paul...can I call you Paul?" he checked with Paul first who nodded mutely, then continued talking to John.  
"Are you aware what taking responsibility implies? You are undertaking to ensure that during the evening he will be at the resident address you have given to us...there is a curfew set on Paul at the moment, so after six o' clock at night he should be found at this address. I'm sure you are aware, John, that Paul is electronically tagged so we can check where he is at any given time...if this curfew is not adhered to, then an explanation will be required and it may affect any future decisions made over Paul's future...can I ask you to confirm you understand that?"  
John cleared his throat, twisting his hat between his hands. "Yes..yes, I understand."  
Steve nodded and smiled encouragingly. "This is a formality..I have to go through all these ins and outs, you understand. Okay. We then have three other addresses...one is I understand a friend where you used to live, one the hospital where you work, and the other is a record shop?" He looked up enquiringly. "You teach?"  
Paul nodded...he'd not yet spoken and even John wasn't faring much better.  
"What do you teach, Paul?" The officer made an attempt to draw the young man out.  
Paul cleared his throat before answering "Guitar and..an' piano."  
The officer cocked his head on one side. "Are you good?"  
John burst in supportively "He's fuckin' brilliant" then flushed red realising what he'd said. Steve, unabashed, merely chuckled.  
"I've heard far worse in my time, John...mainly directed at me. Okay...so you are probably waiting to be cleared before resuming teaching..am I right?"  
Paul nodded again.  
"And..the hospital?"  
John glanced at Paul....gave him a wiggle of his eyebrows to encourage him to talk...but Paul had shut himself off.  
John looked apologetically at Steve."Sorry..he, er...yes, the hospital. They're gonna try and place Paul in a different job there as he can't physically do his old one at the moment...and they said they'll make it a daytime one only because of the..er..the curfew"  
Paul looked thankfully at John for explaining this.  
Steve leaned back in his chair and rubbed his chin thoughtfully. He needed to get to know this young man in order to help. He was debating the best way around it. He faced John again, as he seemed to be the spokesperson at the moment.  
"Paul's sentence requires him to attend, once a week, a drug rehabilitation course and also attend a rehabilitation clinic so that he can see, first hand, the effects and problems that are caused by drug taking. While there he will..." Steve winced at himself. "I'm sorry, Paul, I'm speaking as if you're not in the room...while you are there you will be given simple jobs to perform..all overseen by trained specialists...which are supposed to deepen your awareness of the results of your actions. I hope you understand this side of your sentence. It may be for the whole year or, if those working with you consider you have learned your lesson, so to speak, this element of the sentence may be shortened.  
It is unlikely that the curfew will be lifted, but again it is open to review. What you will find, though, after a few weeks...normally about six weeks....is if you have adhered to all restraints placed upon you, that we may be able to extend the places you are allowed to go..although it would be during the daytime only, and normally at a weekend. This is a lot to take in, I know. If there's anything you've not understood or want me to go over again, do say." He smiled encouragingly at Paul. "Have you followed all that?"  
Paul nodded. John looked at him anxiously.  
"And Mr.....John, have you understood all that?"  
"Yes...yes, I have. So we could in a few weeks extend where Paul is allowed to go?"  
Steve was relieved to have a question asked of him. At least it meant John had been listening.  
"Yes, that's right. You..well, Paul, rather...would need to ask first. You can't just assume and then go somewhere else. It would need clearing. But..yes, in effect..if you wanted to go, to, say...a football match, or something."  
"Ah...right. Okay. Got it."  
Steve smiled at them both. Okay, now was his chance. He stood up from his desk. "John, may I ask you to wait in the waiting room for a moment while I have a private word with Paul?"  
John stood up, his glance falling on Paul. Paul stood up too, looking rather panicked, then sat down again. John nodded encouragingly at him.  
"I'll just be outside, Paul, okay?"  
Steve noted how Paul's eyes followed John's figure until the door closed behind him. He then saw Paul draw into himself. Steve tapped the papers into a neat pile, debating how to reach this young man.  
"That's been quite a lot to take in, Paul. Do you have any queries or have you understood it all?"  
Paul shifted a little, required to answer. "I understood, thank you."  
Steve mused over his next sentence, treading carefully. "You've had a few difficult years, I see."  
Paul looked up, his face colouring. How much did this guy know?  
"You were assigned to me, Paul, because it was considered I would probably be the best person to help you through this. I'm sure the sentence seems very unfair in the light of what happened, but what is important is that we get this year over with as smoothly as possible, without any hiccups, and let you move on with your life. I'm here to see that is done. I'm here to help you, but equally I need you to be open and honest with me. A relationship won't build overnight, and I fully understand that, reading your case, you have every reason not to trust anyone, but I need you to make an exception for me. You can talk to me, and nothing you can tell me will shock me. I'm not here to judge. That's already been done. What happened to you could have happened to anyone. It's happened, it's over with, done and dusted. Don't regard this as a year you have to get through..regard it as a new beginning..a new chapter to your life. Put everything else behind you, and let's move on."  
Steve stood up, gathering the papers together as an indication that the interview was at an end.  
"I'll see you tomorrow, Paul..you can come on your own. Be here for ten, and I'm going to set up a schedule for you. I will also ring the hospital and see what their plans are, so we can fit round your job. I expect you'd like to get back to as normal as possible, hmm?"  
Paul stood, his fingers clenched into fists inside his pockets as he dug his nails into the palms of his hands.  
Steve gave a broad smile, and extended his hand to Paul. "Okay. I'll expect you tomorrow. And you can tell me all about the music you teach. I'd be interested to hear."

"Cat got your tongue?"  
John hugged Paul into his side, looking at him affectionately.  
Paul shook his head, then smiled, realising.  
"He's a nice guy, Paul."  
Paul nodded. John chuckled.  
"Cat really has got your tongue, hasn't he? Eh?"  
The number seventy six bus swept up to the stop, and John propelled Paul on.  
"I mean..you can talk to him, y'know."  
Paul nodded again.  
"Are you on a vow of silence?" John prodded Paul in the side, and, ever ticklish, he shifted across the seat.  
"No!"  
"Ah...hah...a word at last. What did you think of him?"  
Paul hunched down into his coat, staring out through the grimy windows at another green bus heading in the opposite direction. "He was okay."  
"Just okay?"  
"Yeah..nice. He was nice."  
John slipped his arms around Paul's shoulders. "You're gonna be okay. We're gonna be okay. You'll see."  
Paul turned his head to look into John's eyes. They were just inches from one another. Paul smiled "I hope so."


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few scary moments there with my last posting, and a few weird issues not quite yet resolved, but the fantastic support team tell me it is posting okay, so please comment...it reassures me someone out there can see this. A few jittery moments here for Paul and John too as they settle into a new routine and re-discover each other.

"Fuck!!"  
The bed bounced violently, jerking John from one of the most satisfying slumbers he had had in a long long while. He sleepily tried to analyse why he felt so warm and content and snuggly inside of him. Lazily his mind drifted thought circles that were not demanding, searching back...had it been a dream he'd had? Hmm...he felt blissfully, undeniably happy...as if all his chickens had come home to roost and he'd won the lottery. So warm...so comfortable...so  
"John? Johnny...you've got to wake up."  
John's eyes shot open at the sound of that voice. THAT voice. Paul's face was inches from his, peering anxiously at him, brow furrowed.  
"The alarm..it didn't go off..we're late, an' Ritchie's gone, and..."  
A beatific smile spread across John's face. This was the reason for his absolute contentment and happiness. Paul. He reached out for him, but Paul danced away, stress central as always.  
"John, you've gotta get up..come on.." with that he exited the room, naked as the day he was born. John just caught a glimpse of long legs and a bum he just wanted to...  
Agh...he flopped back on the pillows, his hand patting the warm dent Paul's body had left in the bed. He couldn't stress...not today. He had Paul back. That was just the best feeling in the world. Still with a big smile, his fingers drew little circles on the warm place while his eyes fell closed of their own accord. Paul. Mmm...got him back. Life couldn't get any better. The bed was so inviting...  
"John! For Chrissake..."  
Paul was back, still naked but with a distinctly soapy aroma surrounding him, toothbrush in one hand scrubbing at his teeth, a dangerously capsizing mug of tea in the other which he thrust in John's direction. John just about managed to capture it before Paul had gone again, a lingering smell of toothpaste being the only sign he'd been there. Bemusedly John shook his head. He'd forgotten how exhausting Paul could be. Cautiously he took a sip of tea. Mmm. Just the right temperature. It ticked all the boxes. His glance flicked over to the alarm clock on the bedside table. 9.05. Oh, shit. The shop opened at 9.30. No...change that. HE opened the shop at 9.30. John groaned and flopped back onto his pillows. Rob wouldn't mind if he was late. He'd understand. Rob, of everyone, would understand. The door banged back open and Paul was there with his own tea, his eyes wild and dark.  
"We're gonna be late...fuck, John..it's me first appointment and I'm gonna be late."  
Paul started barrelling round the room finding clothes, which he seemed to pull from random places. John watched him, unable to take his eyes off him. Currently Paul was hopping on one foot trying to pull a sock on while also pulling up his pants..which were, John noted, with some amusement... back to front. With a loud thump, Paul landed on his backside, one foot in the air. The look of astonishment on his face made John burst out laughing. Paul glared furiously at him.  
"It's not funny, John."   
John gave up, swung his legs out of the bed, and extended his hand to Paul. Paul grasped the proferred assistance, and was hauled to his feet. John pulled him in close, refusing to let go. His eyes drank in the sight of Paul's face as if he couldn't get enough of it. He gave a twisted smile.  
"Mornin' beautiful."  
He felt Paul shiver lightly, watching him from dark hooded eyes, as if he too could not get his fill of John.  
"Morning" the reply was whispered. John leaned forward and gave him a chaste kiss. Last night they'd simply fallen asleep in each other's arms, too tired to do anything.  
There was a pause while they observed each other. It had been months since they'd been alone together, and there was still an odd awkwardness on both their parts.  
John squeezed Paul's wrist, and gave an amused nod in the directions of his nether regions.  
"Y' pants are on back to front, love."  
Paul started...he'd been miles away for a moment, and his brain did not straight away process John's words. Then he saw John's amused smile.  
"Oh!" Paul glanced down. "Oh...yeah..right..." He extracted his hand from John's hold and in one swift movement pulled his pants back down, reaching out to John for support. Quick as a flash, John pinched them, waving them out of reach.  
"I prefer you like that..."  
"John..give..mmph.."  
John had captured his lips in a kiss which became deeper. He felt Paul's resistance fade. He chased him, pulling him closer in, feeling again the familiar contours of the body within his arms. They paused, Paul's arms having slipped around John's waist, and drew back, observing each other.  
Paul chewed his lip. "We're late."  
John nodded. "I know."  
"I should..should get dressed."  
"Mm hmm."  
Paul's arms remained around John's waist and he made no effort to move.  
"It's my first appointment."  
John observed him fondly."I know it is, love."  
Reluctantly John released him, and Paul stepped back.   
For the first time John noted the black bracelet around Paul's right ankle. The electronic tag that charted his whereabouts. Paul saw John's downward glance and squirmed slightly, his face colouring. Yet John was not dismayed by it...rather it accentuated the long legs. He made a mental note that Paul would look good with an ankle bracelet, maybe he should get him one, but..hang on..he was a guy. You didn't do things like that. To cover his confusion...Christ, where did his thoughts wander?...he cleared his throat with a little, fake, cough, and indicated said bracelet.  
"Does it, er..does it annoy you? Rub, or anything?"  
Paul shook his head. He'd suddenly gone very quiet. He was watching John, his face unreadable. John sometimes found it rather scary when Paul withdrew like that, but he tried to remind himself it was just Paul's coping mechanism. There was a lot of insecurity packaged away.  
John gave an encouraging smile, and patted Paul's arm.  
"We'd better get ready. I'll call a taxi..it can drop me off first and then take you.."  
"No, I can walk..it'll cost.."  
"Paul, chill. Like you said, it's your first appointment, an' y' don't wanna be late. An' I've gotta unlock the shop. We'll grab something to eat on our way out, yeah?"  
His eyes never leaving John's face, Paul nodded.   
"Y' gonna get dressed then?"  
Paul nodded again, but made no move.   
"Love, y' gonna be okay?"  
Another nod. John shook his head.  
"And are you gonna talk to him this time?"  
John could sense Paul closing in even more.  
He reached out a finger and touched the end of Paul's nose. Paul jumped, his face scrunching up.  
John bent down and picked up the socks, holding them out to Paul. One was red striped, the other a plain blue.  
"Odd socks too?"  
Paul's eyes flickered around the room nervously. He was far more jittery than John had realised, and a pang shot through John's stomach. He wanted to hold Paul, shut him away, not force him to go out into the world. But then, that wasn't what life was about, was it? Life was about helping Paul to create his own space confidently in this world. That was the plan. John sighed, and pulled the hesitant figure back into his arms. Paul was chilling down..he needed to get dressed. These late September mornings were getting cold. John rubbed his back.  
"Time to get dressed, yeah? You're gonna be okay..you WILL be okay. Tonight we'll play some guitar an' have a beer an' a pizza an' watch summat on Netflix. Yeah?"  
John felt Paul's silent nod against his shoulder. Surreptitiously he eyed the clock.  
"Come on, Paulie..it's 9.20 now. I'll order the taxi for in ten minutes..can you be ready for then?"  
John felt another silent nod. John gritted his teeth, and pushed Paul away from him gently.  
"Dressed. Now, yeah?" John went to his wardrobe and began pulling out trousers and jumpers while at the same time scrolling on his phone for the local taxi service. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Paul starting to pull on his jeans. Well...that was something....

When Paul was shown into his probation officer's room, Steve was already on the phone. He raised an eyebrow indicating the chair the other side of the desk and offered Paul a welcoming smile while never pausing in his conversation. Paul sat down, perching on the edge of the chair, his eyes scanning the room. To the officer he looked like someone about to take flight who was looking for escape routes. Steve had spent the previous evening reading up on Paul's case, searching out anything that would help him form a relationship with the young man. The details had been brief. A lot remained unsaid. Most of what was known had been gleaned either from a friend of Paul's or by those who had known Luke Stanton and had been aware of the situation. Paul himself had refused to talk. Not a lot to go on.   
At the moment he had the hospital on the phone and was trying to arrange for alternate employment within it's domain to be found for the young man as he was not yet able to physically return to the post he'd previously held. It seemed Paul was well-known and well-liked by the staff there and they were more than happy to find him a place. That came as a relief to Steve, for often those with a criminal record were difficult to place in employment, or previous employers would be reluctant to take them back on. The hospital were offering an office job to Paul doing medical records. It would be temporary as it was maternity cover, but the hospital were confident that Paul would be able to handle it. Steve arranged for Paul to be shown the ropes the next day, and gratefully thanked the helpful administrator. Having placed the phone down in the cradle, he was able to turn his attention to Paul. Steve felt he had to tread carefully. This was no hardened criminal in front of him. It was a complicated case involving abuse as well as drugs.   
Steve offered a small smile. "That was the hospital I was speaking to, Paul. They are happy to offer you a position in the medical records office covering maternity leave for a few weeks. They want you to be there for nine tomorrow morning and someone called Alex.." Steve noted a flicker of recognition in Paul's eyes..good! .."will show you the ropes. Would you be happy with that?"  
Paul nodded. Steve clasped his hands together and leaned back into his chair. Inwardly he debated how to get this young man talking. All he'd had yesterday had been nods.  
From beneath lowered lashes he surveyed Paul. He sensed withdrawal. The lad wasn't really there.

When John had got out the taxi with a swift 'bye', Paul had had to resist the urge to follow him. Every bit of his being had wanted to jump out the cab too and hang on to John. 'Don't go..don't go..please don't go' had been running through Paul's head even as the door slammed behind John and the taxi drew away from the kerb. Paul twisted in his seat to watch John approach the door of the record shop, then the taxi swept round a corner and the vision was lost. Paul slumped down in his seat, unconsciously chewing at a fingernail, his mind clouded with worry. He was going to meet a guy he didn't know to talk about...what?...what were they going to be discussing? Heaven forbid this guy would ask him about anything that had gone on. Paul had spent what was now the last two years trying to push it all out of his head. He didn't want to talk about it. He didn't want to remember. He wanted to put it all behind him and move on. The memories that he couldn't keep down were his problem, no one else's. He chewed his nail so hard he felt a sudden jab of pain, and realised with a start that his finger was bleeding. He pulled a tissue from his coat pocket and dabbed up the blood.   
"He's nothing"  
Paul's head shot up in alarm, and he looked round wildly. Where had that voice come from? He drew a deep breath trying to calm himself. This was stupid. He was twenty two years old, for fucksake. If he couldn't hold himself together he'd end up in a loony bin. He wrapped the tissue tighter round his finger, watching the spot blood seep through, a frown of concentration on his face.  
"You can have him."  
Luke's voice. Paul gasped out loud, and the taxi driver glanced in his mirror, slowing down.  
"Are you okay, son?"  
Paul nodded vigorously. The taxi driver frowned. Something not quite right here. Thank god...here was the probation centre. Wonder what the kid's doing here? He looks nice enough..still, y'can never tell nowadays.  
"Your stop, mate."

"So tell me about your teaching..how on earth do you begin showing someone?" Steve was trying to be nice. Really nice. Paul could appreciate that fact, it was just....  
His stomach was churning. He was so nervous he seriously felt he was on the edge of throwing up. That roll he'd grabbed on the way out...it was forcing it's way back up..he was gonna be sick..he knew he was...He swallowed, but his throat was dry. Like sandpaper. And his hands...Christ, what was the matter with him? He'd survived a couple of months at the detention centre with no problem. He'd been okay...he could do this. He looked at the finger he'd wrapped the tissue round. The blood was still seeping through, but slowly now..sluggish, like his mind, churning through muddy thoughts. Jesus Christ...what was the matter with him? 'He's nothing'...'He's nothing'...the voice chanted over and over in his head. He sank his head into his hands, covering his ears, trying to blot it out. A sob tore from his mouth....he wanted to be anywhere but here...but where?...nowhere?...nowhere would be good....to be nowhere....to not exist...  
"Paul?"  
"I don't know"  
"Just...sudden..."  
"Absolutely no idea.."  
"Thank God you happened to be here.."  
"Can we ring...a friend..."

The lights were bright. No...it wasn't light. It was a weak September sun shining through a window. Paul felt as if he was emerging through water into clear air. He drew a shuddering breath. He was lying on something hard...like a couch. The air smelled of..of..disinfectant? A poster on the wall in front of him was covered in diagrams explaining how to do resuscitation. His mum had shown him, when he was little...you never know, she'd said, when you may need this skill....  
"How are you feeling?"  
Paul sat up so swiftly in surprise his head did triple flips and he sank back down.  
"Just lie still, okay? A friend is coming to collect you. He said his name's Richard, is that right? You live with him?"  
Paul closed his eyes. God, why was he always fucking things up. John would be so annoyed. And someone having to rescue him again...Jesus, no wonder John kept calling him princess.  
"I'm okay..." Paul muttered, not very convincingly " I don't need to go.."  
A face loomed into view. Steve, who was viewing him with concern.  
"I think you need to take it easy. You blacked out a moment ago. All probably a bit too much. We mustn't forget you're still supposed to take things easy. I'll cancel the hospital for tomorrow."  
Paul shook his head. He had to fight this. He could do it. "No, don't. I'll be okay."  
Well, that was the most words Steve had ever heard him say.

Paul sat on the settee nursing a beer....supposedly watching the original Star Wars film...he LOVED the music....but in reality he was listening to the murmur of conversation behind the closed kitchen door where John and Ritchie were cooking the evening meal. He knew Ritchie would be telling John about his rescue mission to collect Paul from the probation centre. Inwardly Paul squirmed. He'd really wanted to show John that he could do this....get himself around, be bright, be confident, all the things he used to be before..before..he twisted the bottle in his hands, dark thoughts descending. He grimaced, annoyed at himself, and fought back. John was hoping so much that he'd succeed.   
".....no idea..."  
"..so...tomorrow...how?..."  
"..not sure...they said leave it a day..."  
The conversation drifted into the little living room. Paul tried not to listen, yet was aware that he was straining his ears to catch what was being said. He'd felt such a helpless idiot...Ritchie being dragged out of work to come and fetch him...taking him home in a taxi..a taxi!!...again!!...Christ, how much was he costing his friends?   
"......to watch out for depression...George said that..."  
Paul winced. They must have him down as a nut case. He stood up swiftly, crossed the little room and flung open the kitchen door.  
John and Ritchie both started guiltily, looking at him open-mouthed. Paul could only stare back at them. Why had he just done this? Why? Did he have something to say? The sudden impulse that had driven him into the kitchen had disappeared. He looked blankly from one to the other.  
John saw his confusion. He moved forward carefully, as if afraid he'd startle Paul.  
"Y'okay? Come to find out if tea's ready yet?"  
Paul's eyes connected with John's. He grabbed at the straw that had been thrown to him. "Er..yeah. Yeah. I'm..hungry."  
Ritchie gave his wonderful warm smile that Paul loved so much. "S'nearly ready, son..just hang on in there. Me an' John were just havin' a good chinwag. D'you still wanna go tomorrow?"  
Paul was relieved to have the ball thrown into his court. Relieved that at least Ritchie considered him sane enough to be asked a logical question. He nodded vigorously. "Yeah. Yeah, I do. I'm meeting Alex at nine" he added, as if to emphasise the fact that he was across this, that he did have all his faculties.  
John gave a wry smile. "Better make sure we put the alarm on then, hadn't we?"  
"Oh, I'll make sure he's up, don't worry" Ritchie gave the pasta a stir, breathing in the smell of herbs "I'm starting at nine. If there's no sound from you two by eight I'll knock on your door."  
Paul was no longer listening. He'd locked eyes with John. He didn't like what he was reading in John's eyes. A mixture of emotions. He could see pity. Paul's pride rose to the surface. He didn't want to be pitied, least of all by John. And..doubt? Doubt over what? Their relationship? Did John think he was too much to cope with...too difficult? Too unpredictable?   
At the exact same time John was watching the emotions that flitted rapidly across Paul's face. He could see with his mind's eye the churning wheels making swift and oftimes erroneous judgement. He left Ritchie's side and grasped Paul's wrist, hoping to ground him.  
"How's the film goin' then? Can you speak every line with them yet? You've watched it enough times."  
Paul blinked slowly. The wheels slowed down. His eyes remained fixed on John.  
"Which part has it reached? Have they bombed the death star yet?"  
John's words filtered sluggishly through, and Paul shook his head. John's grip on his wrist tightened.  
"That's my favourite bit. Shall we grab another beer and watch that scene while Ritchie finishes off? Yeah?"  
Not waiting for Paul's reply, John towed him back into the living room, drew him down alongside him on the settee and fast forwarded the film to the next section. He carried on chatting, not giving time for Paul to respond..or think....as he kept up a running commentary. Casually he slung his arm around Paul's shoulders and, slowly, slowly, Paul relaxed and leaned into John's embrace until he was drawn back into the film, and the beer, and the smell of the meal cooking, and John..holding him...

By the time John got to bed, Paul was already asleep. John shook his head. Their third night together and, as yet, no love making between them.   
As he slowly undressed, John found himself mulling over things in his mind. Paul had seemed bright enough when he'd been collected from the detention centre. In fact, he'd seemed positively normal. It had been him, John, who'd found it difficult to adjust to having Paul back. Had he sent out mixed signals to the younger man? He certainly hadn't meant to...he'd just been somewhat stressed...the whole having to collect Paul and having a lot of legal issues to contend with...and then the whole thing that they'd been apart for three months...other than visiting hours.  
It was going to take some adjustment on both their parts. Add to that the fact that Paul had issues. Well-hidden, tucked away, buried under layers of cement issues that none the less reared their ugly heads when least expected. And that, thought John with a glance at the slumbering figure, is what probably happened today. John slipped under the covers and reached his arm around Paul's waist. Although Paul didn't wake a deep sigh issued from him, and he curled up nearer to John. John buried his head in Paul's dark hair, breathing in the familiar scent. He wanted so much to help him, yet felt powerless. He didn't have the skills. Without doubt there were some complex problems trapped inside Paul's head. Christ knows how he'd be tomorrow. But..at least he'd have Ritchie with him. That should help.

John woke to the movement of Paul getting dressed. He was perching on the edge of the bed pulling on...John noted wryly...matching socks. His hair was still damp from the shower, curling slightly into his neck. John watched a drop of water trickle from the end of it and run a trail down Paul's back, past narrow shoulder blades, finding a path down the knobbly spine, and finally disappearing into the waistband. It must have tickled Paul in it's final journey as he reached round and swiped at the base of his spine, then noted as he turned to do so that John was watching him. A smile lit up his face.  
"Hi"  
Myopically John grinned back. "Hi to you too. Up bright and early. I didn't hear the alarm go off?"  
Paul shook his head. "Ritchie woke me with a cup of tea just after seven." Paul had ceased in his dressing and was gazing at John almost as if seeing him for the first time. John gave a crooked smile.  
"That it for today, then? No shirt?"  
Paul started, flustered, and got up to retrieve a pale blue shirt. It was John's turn to watch as Paul slipped the item over his slim torso, buttoning it swiftly with deft fingers. That reminded John....  
"Where's your guitar?"  
"Hmm? Oh..George has got it for me."  
"Haven't seen you play for ages."  
Paul shook his head, tucking his shirt into his grey trousers. John raised an eyebrow slightly...Paul was looking very formal today...particularly when he added a simple patterned grey tie to match. Paul stooped down to check his hair in the mirror that was balanced on a dresser.  
"Mmm..no. I haven't. Wasn't allowed anything like that at the detention centre. Shame, really. It would have killed a bit of time." He ran a comb through the damp locks, but it immediately flopped back across his forehead giving him a rakish air.  
"Why don't you collect it tonight on your way home?"  
Paul gave an exasperated sigh, as if to explain the obvious to a young child. "Because, John, I have to be here for six o' clock. Curfew. Remember?"  
"Oh, aye. I remember. Didn't think."  
Paul smiled at him, slipping the comb into his back pocket.  
"Paul??" The call came from downstairs. Paul started.  
"Oh,,better go."  
"You gonna be okay?"   
Paul flushed slightly, preferring to forget yesterday.  
"Yeah. Sure. I'm fine."  
He moved towards the door, but John called him back. Cautiously, Paul returned to the side of the bed. John pushed himself up and caught hold of Paul's hand, yanking the younger man towards him. Paul almost lost his footing and landed on top of John who took the opportunity to capture first his arms and then his lips. When Paul pulled back at another call from Ritchie, he was flushed and tousled. John smiled at the sight. He looked closely at Paul. "I love you" he said simply and clearly. He saw a wave of relief cross Paul's face.  
"I love you too."


	3. Chapter 3

John knew.  
The second his mobile vibrated in his pocket, he knew.

He'd served his first customers of the day, and was taking the chance of a little peace and quiet to tidy up the R - S section of L.P.'s. He was humming quietly to himself, one part of his mind wondering how Paul was doing. Hoping everything was okay. At the moment you couldn't rely on that. He was a bit unpredictable. John gave a rueful smile. Scrub that...he was decidedly unpredictable.

Then his phone vibrated.  
Sixth sense kicked in.  
Before he even took it out of his pocket.  
The name 'Ritchie' was lighting up.  
His stomach flipped.  
He pressed 'accept'.  
He didn't even get to say hello before Ritchie's voice burst out of the speaker.  
"John? John...are you there? John?"  
John took a deep breath. "Hi Ritch...what's the problem?"  
He could almost hear Ritchie gasping. "John, it's Paul..."  
John's eyes flitted to the clock. It was just turning twenty past nine. Wryly he considered the fact that Paul hadn't lasted long.  
"...just...fled..." Ritchie's words alerted him.  
"What?"  
"He just fled, John...just ran..so Alex said."  
John felt panic set in. "Well, where the fuck is he now?"  
He had visions of Paul lost, alone, somewhere out on the streets, vulnerable. His breath quickened.  
"He's okay..he fled to Trevor's office."  
John let loose a breath he wasn't even aware he was holding.  
"He's there now..he's sort of..had a ..melt down. He won't talk to anyone an' he..he's screwed himself up into a ball and isn't..John..John, can y' come? "  
Ritchie sounded desperate. John heaved a sigh. Of course he would go. Ritchie didn't need to ask.  
"Who's with him?"  
"Trevor an' me...there was a doctor and Alex an' another couple, but the doctor said we were probably making it worse, an' just to clear out till he calmed down."  
Sensible doctor, thought John. He was probably right.  
"They said.." Ritchie's voice lowered, as if he didn't want to be overheard "..they said he probably has anxiety problems..."  
Bullseye there, mate, thought John.  
But Ritchie hadn't finished. "Maybe..could be some mental health issues. John, d'you think?......"  
"No, I don't." John dismissed Ritchie abruptly. "It's just too much too soon for him to cope with. I'll be there in a few minutes. Just..stay with him, yeah?"  
Ritchie suddenly sounded really sad. "Yeah. Yeah, course I will."  
John slipped his phone back into his pocket and glanced up to see Rob watching him curiously.  
"Problem?"  
John nodded tersely.  
Rob moved forward and patted his arm. "Just go, John. I'll hold the fort. Ring me later when you know what's happening."

Paul had screwed himself up to do this today. He was ignoring the butterflies in his stomach that were doing back flips and circles. He was focusing on one thing and one thing only, and that was the job he was being offered at the hospital. It wasn't something he particularly wanted to do. The idea of sitting still for even five minutes did not appeal to Paul, let alone spending a whole day at a desk. But he needed employment. He couldn't expect his friends to keep him and he didn't want state hand outs. He ignored the weird buzzing that started in his ears as Alex, after a friendly greeting, led him up the stairs to the Medical Records Office. Alex was chatting away to him, but it was going over Paul's head. He thought about John...John's face...John wishing him well...John...  
They reached the top floor and Alex swung the door open into the office.  
Paul could see that Alex was talking to him, but it was delayed reception into Paul's ears.  
"..so this is the office, Paul..."  
Paul's eyes widened. He hadn't realised it was so big. So huge. Enormous. Open plan. At least thirty desks in there. Thirty desks with thirty people. Thirty pairs of eyes that swivelled in Paul's direction. Thirty pairs of eyes surveying him. Seeing him. Knowing him. Knowing what had gone on. What he was. His throat closed up. He had to go...he had to...

John could see Ritchie's head popping up by the main reception, watching for him. He took the steps two at a time. Ritchie's eyes were anxious.  
"Thank God you're here."  
"Is he still with Trevor?"  
"Yeah. He..he's not acknowledging any of us..he's just.." Ritchie sighed. "Well, you'll see."  
If the situation had not been so desperate John would have seen the humour in it. How had a guy that nearly topped 5' 11" managed to squash himself into such a small ball? Paul had taken up residence on the single armchair in Trevor's office, had drawn his knees up to his chest, circled them with his arms and buried his head between his knees, his feet crossed at the ankles. John resisted the urge to go straight to him and stopped instead to acknowledge Trevor, who, seated at his desk, had stood up at John's entrance.  
John nodded towards Paul. "How long's he been here?"  
Trevor looked serious as he replied. "Since about ten past nine. About forty minutes now. The doctor told everyone to clear out an' leave him. He said he's gonna check on him about ten an' if he's still like this he's gonna sedate him an' admit him."  
John chewed his lip anxiously. That, as far as he could see, would only throw up other problems. John glanced at Ritchie, who was watching him closely.  
"I reckon we'd better shift him an' get him home, eh? He'll be better at home."  
Ritchie nodded. John crossed over to Paul, stooping down before the huddled ball.  
"Paul?"  
He didn't really expect Paul to acknowledge him.  
At that moment in time, Paul was incapable of acknowledging anyone. His head was full of images, as if a hundred videos were all playing at once. And the soundtrack, with the odd coherent word making it's way out of a ceaseless babble. The most dominant scene playing was all the eyes watching him, but there were other scenes. His dad. His brother. Luke. Everywhere he looked, Luke. "He's nothing". Eyes, watching. Hands on him. Touching him. "Nothing." Luke. Luke. "He's nobody." Someone, please.  
He felt arms go round him. He shrank into himself even more. If only he could disappear. Not be there. Not be anywhere. Not exist.  
"Paul? Paul, come on, love, it's me, John."  
John encircled him, drawing him closely in. John's scarf drifted by Paul's clenched fingers, bringing with it a smell. A smell of outdoors and Ritchie's cooking and vinyl records and..  
Paul's fingers clutched the woollen fabric, twisting it round.  
"Shall we go home?"  
Paul's eyes met John's as he unfurled slightly. John surveyed him anxiously. There was no recognition in Paul's eyes. They weren't blank though. They were seeing things. But not seeing John.  
"Ritchie, get us a taxi, eh?"  
"D'you want Ritchie to go back with you an' help?" Trevor offered.  
John felt a wave of relief wash over him. "That would be good, ta."  
John pulled an unresisting figure into his arms and steered Paul out of the building and into the backseat of a taxi that Ritchie had hailed...an advantage of working at the hospital, John thought wryly....always taxis lined up outside. Ritchie was shrugging himself out of the green porters' uniform as he followed John into the car. Over the top of Paul's head they looked at one another. Nothing it seemed was straightforward anymore.

"He's asleep." John informed George who had called round.  
George had taken the whole story of Paul's morning very calmly. Almost as if he expected something like this to happen. Then again, maybe he had.  
George crossed one skinny ankle over the other and settled back into the settee, his thin fingers clutching a mug of herbal tea.  
"Hmm" George hummed. "Yeah. It's what he does. He shuts down. Seen it before." George blew gently on the steaming liquid while John waited impatiently for more details.  
George sipped at his drink, and turned to smile benignly at John.  
"When I took Paul in originally..y'know..when he got away from Luke...he slept for nearly two weeks. Twenty four seven. In all that time I only managed to get him to eat a bit of rice and some toast, and drink water. I made sure he didn't dehydrate. Other than that he slept. He didn't talk..didn't seem to really recognise me. Occasionally he'd get up and head into the bathroom for a piss, but..he was like a zombie. Not really there. Just...slept, y'know."  
John could hardly believe this. Hadn't George panicked? Called a doctor? Wasn't he worried?  
George looked at him with his hundred year old eyes.  
"Nah...figured he'd wake up and talk when he was ready."  
"The hospital said there could be mental issues."  
George was equally unperturbed. "They could be right there, particularly after everything he's been through, but, then again, we're all products of what life has made us, aren't we?" He smiled warmly at John. "He'll be okay, y'know. Eventually. He's stronger than you reckon on."  
"I've had to phone the fuckin' probation officer an' explain."  
"How did that go?"  
"Okay..yeah, okay, really. He's quite understanding. Said they'll not expect Paul to do anything till he's physically and mentally ready to. He told me.." John shifted his position, settling down more into the settee "that when Paul was in the detention centre he was kept in solitary...not 'cos of anything he'd done, but because they felt he became stressed if he had to mix with other guys. So he ate and slept on his own an' when he worked it was for the governor just sortin' mail an' doin' odd jobs an' the like. Steve..that's the probation officer..reckons it could be the amount of people in the office that flipped Paul today. Alex said there's nearly thirty five workin' in there. So, if anything has come out of today, it's the fact that he's not going to be able to work with others...only with a few, maybe just one or two."  
"Can I do anything to help? Would you like me to come round an' stay with him while you're at work in the day? I can do that if y' like?"  
A wave of relief washed over John. "Could you? Would you be willin' to? That'd really help."  
George grinned, all teeth and hair. "Course. Not a problem..be like old times. I've spent a lot of me life watchin' Paul sleep."  
They chuckled at each other, and suddenly John didn't feel so bad. If George regarded this as a normal occurrence, then why should he worry?

"It doesn't solve the problem of a job, though, does it?"  
John shook his head. "No, Rob, it doesn't."  
"Hmm" Rob hummed thoughtfully. "So...Paul needs employment...but not with a lot of people. Nothing crowded. Not where he'll feel threatened. He can cope with one or two, yeah?"  
John nodded. "Yeah. That's okay..I mean..y'know, the teaching here..he was really good at that. It took him out of himself and he got more confident..it was something he could do and was good at."  
"Well, that should be back on soon. Jacob's been chasing up the CRB clearance..maybe it's something Paul could do more of? Do some in the week? After all, some of his adult pupils could come in the day, maybe? What d'you think?"  
John gave a wry grin "I think Paul needs to wake up first."  
"Is he still asleep?"  
"Yup. Three days an' counting."  
"Jesus! Are y' worried?"  
"I was, to begin with, but George is with him all day an' he just sits by the bed and reads stories to him as if he's awake an' every now an' then he'll get Paul to have a drink...he just..seems to be okay..just not waking up. A proper Sleeping Beauty."  
Rob smiled widely. "He is that, John. I'll give you that. Fills the part well there son."  
"Oh aye..Sleepin' Beauty with a beard the rate he's goin'....y' wanna see him."  
They chuckled together.  
"What if he came here to work with you?"  
John looked up sharply. "What?"  
"Well..I know we're not that busy, but the accounts need doing, an' I hate doing them. And if he was around to help you then I could go and visit more record fairs..build the stock, y'know. And..well, it's more than that, but I can't say yet. Jacob an' me have got a long term idea, but nothing immediate, but it might be good having Paul here. An extra pair of hands if I wanna go away."  
John was staring in amazement at Rob. "Paul work here? With me?"  
Rob smiled broadly. "That's what I'm suggesting..if you think you can cope with being together all day everyday?"  
"But..financially, can you do that?"  
"Well, I couldn't offer a big wage..it'd be minimum wage for a bit, but I guess he'd be able to build his teaching up."  
John's mouth was agape, then colour flooded his face. "Rob, you are fuckin' brilliant. If there was such a thing I'd give you employer of the year award."  
Rob's hat fell to the floor as John gave him an enormous hug.  
"Aye up, lad..you'll have Jacob jealous. Happy to do something to help. An' it means you'll have Paul here under your nose where you can watch him...an' on a completely selfish note it means I don't keep losin' you everytime there's a problem."

John waved goodbye to George as he went off to the restaurant, his Indian tapestry bag with elephants embroidered on it slung over his back, his long hair blowing in the breeze. Once George was out of sight, John headed upstairs to check on Paul. It was very quiet and...peaceful?..yeah, peaceful..in the room. Long lashes on dainty cheeks was offset by the heavy three days growth of beard. John gave a twisted smile at the severe contrast. He pushed some of the hair off Paul's forehead and Paul opened his eyes, looking at John. His eyes were still, as yet, blank. John didn't know who Paul was seeing but it sure as hell wasn't him.  
"D'you want some water?" John offered. Paul's eyes travelled to the glass on the bedside and he struggled to a half sitting position, holding out his hand. As soon as he'd had a couple of mouthfuls he simply rolled back over and closed his eyes. John sighed. He really..as in REALLY...wanted his boyfriend back. Still...his heart gave a little jump of joy remembering Rob's proposition. It would be great having Paul where he could see him. Be there for him. And maybe, therefore, avoid any other occasions like this happening.  
"Don't want to"...it was a mumble, and John turned swiftly to look at Paul. He stroked his arm comfortingly.  
"Don't want to what, love?"  
"No..don't..please...don't.." Although the words were quiet there was a hint of distress in there. Paul's eyelids were flickering. Dreaming. John's lips tightened imperceptibly. He had a good fuckin' idea what about.  
"Paul? Come on..you're dreaming. Come on, love. You're okay...no one's gonna make you do anything."  
John jumped when Paul suddenly gave a loud gasp and shot up in bed, his eyes wide, staring in front of him, seeing things John couldn't.  
"Paul?"  
Paul turned, slowly, unsure. His eyes focused on John. And they saw him. As in REALLY saw him.  
John reached out his hand, running it down the side of Paul's face, feeling the three day's stubble, pausing on the parted lips..then he leant in and kissed him, gently, tenderly, lovingly.  
"Welcome back" he smiled.  
Paul's answering smile was hesitant, unsure. He had no idea what had gone on. But for now he had John. John grounded him. John was his anchor in the storm of life. He twisted round in the bed and slipped his arms around John's neck, burying his nose in the auburn hair, delighting in the familiar smell. John almost giggled at the feel of Paul's breath causing a tickling sensation. Almost giggled from sheer relief. Thank Christ he'd finally woken up.

Over the top of Paul's dark head Ritchie and John gave each other a grin. Paul hadn't yet stopped eating. He was on his second helping of bacon, eggs and beans with toast and mugs of hot tea. He'd paused just briefly to mumble " 'm fuckin' starving" before proceeding to devour everything that was put before him. He didn't question what had gone on. John wondered if he remembered, or if Paul simply took events like this in his stride..or did his mind block it out? And that also raised the question how much did his mind block out? For now John could only feel an overwhelming relief that Paul had, seemingly, recovered....and realised he had a stupid grin on his face that he couldn't wipe off. He looked across at Ritchie again and saw a similar grin.  
Petit mal. That was what George had said to John. He'd never heard the expression before. Petit mal. A French expression for a lapse in consciousness. A moment when someone is not there. Not anywhere. Like they dip out of space and time then come back again unaware that anything has gone on.  
For three days? John had asked, incredulous. No. George had shook his head. It's usually very brief...lasts a couple or so minutes. But that's like what happens to Paul . He just..dips out for a bit. Will he remember what's gone on? George had pondered the question. He might remember the office bit but probably not anything else . Probably not running to Trevor's office or the sleeping for three days. John took a gulp of his tea, observing Paul eat. Well, shit! Life was never boring, that was for sure. What was his next trick gonna be?


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A bit of a filler chapter here...moving on with life at the McLennons

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments appreciated...still can't see this fic appearing on A03 on my lap top so please let me know if you are reading it!

Paul did up the buttons of his outdoor coat with fingers that were trembling with excitement. From under his dark fringe he kept glancing sideways at John, who was busy winding a bright woollen scarf around his neck as a precaution against the chill of a mid-October day. Paul could hardly contain his joy at the fact he was going to work with John. WITH John. With JOHN!! Two weeks down the road from his disastrous job interview at the hospital and he had been offered a position at Retro Records helping to keep the books, do the accounts, lend a hand in the shop when required and...now that his CRB clearance was through...resume teaching. And best of all he was going to have John with him...all day, everyday. If John was there then nothing...absolutely NOTHING...could rock Paul's world.

Pulling on his woolly red hat John was aware of Paul's sidelong glances. Peering at himself in the mirror of the tiny hallway he could see Paul behind him reflected in the mirror, glances being directed his way. John could tell by the flush of colour on Paul's cheeks that he was excited. John couldn't help but feel a rush of smug self-satisfaction that he had been part of helping this to happen. Him and, of course, Rob, whose idea it had been. Between the two of them they had tried to cover all eventualities. Hopefully, this time, it would work out for Paul. The majority of the time the shop was never crowded...unless, maybe, on a Saturday. But then he, John, would be by Paul's side. He had high hopes that all would go well. Heaven knows, they needed something to. John thought back to his conversation with Steve, Paul's probation officer. What a lovely and understanding guy he was. Paul could have ended up with someone less sympathetic, but Jacob said he'd been chosen specially as Paul's was a ..how did he put it?...special case? No..a delicate case, that was it, and would need careful handling. Steve had proved himself an empathetic counsellor, no doubt of that. He'd smoothed the bumps out for Paul, had re-arranged programmes where necessary. Paul hadn't yet been to any of his rehabilitation courses, but it was hoped that, if things went well at work, that he'd be able to begin this aspect of his sentence soon.  
John re-arranged the hat on top of his curling auburn hair, and turned to face Paul who, meeting his gaze suddenly, widened his eyes, startled. John quirked a smile at him.  
"Okay there, Macca?"  
Paul had the feeling that John had been able to read his mind..that all those innermost thoughts had been exposed. He could feel a blush colouring his cheeks. He nodded.  
John shook his head in amusement. "Y' gonna talk to the customers, aren't y'? Not just nod them to death."  
Paul swatted at his arm. "Of course I am."  
"Ooh..he speaks.."  
Paul coloured even more. "John!!"  
John held his hands up. "Okay..okay...I surrender. Come on, then...let's go catch the number 56 an' go get the shop open."

They matched their footsteps to each other, striding out down the bleak street through windy damp weather. Nothing could dampen Paul's enthusiasm though. He could hardly contain his excitement. He was with John. HIS John. He threw another sidelong glance just to make sure he wasn't dreaming and found John was watching him.   
"Excited?" John asked.  
Paul nodded.   
"Well...hope y' good at makin' tea. We drink a lot of it."  
They kept a conservative distance from each other as they walked, though they could none the less sense each other's attraction. Paul longed to thread his arm through John's and pull the man's body to his side. John's fingers twitched. He loved to lace his fingers through Paul's, recognising every knuckle, every callous, every bitten down finger nail. The damp breeze blew the hair across Paul's eyes, and he pushed it away impatiently, smiling at John. John couldn't resist. Briefly, swiftly, he pulled Paul to his side, gave him a hug, then released him again. Joy bubbled up through Paul, erupting in a full blown smile that chased away every cloud. Life was good.

They'd made love last night. John had moved cautiously, not wanting to rush Paul. It had been over four months since they had last shared such an intimacy. There had been a lot of hurdles to surmount first. Just being together again...re-discovering each other. And Paul....well, there were problems. Also the young man had appeared exhausted a lot of the time. He'd slept so much. John hadn't had the heart to wake him. But last night...that had been different. It's like they both knew. Both were ready. They'd moved carefully with one another...slowly, exploring. Memories retained in fingertips of what each partner found pleasurable. John hadn't realised how he'd longed for this...how desperate he was. He'd never gone so long without having sex. But never, for one moment, had he considered anyone else. With anyone else it would have been just that...sex...but with Paul it was different. It was making love.   
He'd run his fingers down those long thighs....he'd forgotten how erotic that was, particularly when he felt Paul's body shiver under him. He had forgotten how he loved to feel Paul's breath ghost across his chest, and how Paul loved to play with the few sparse chest hairs, twisting them in his fingers as if trying to curl them. He'd forgotten how silky Paul's hair felt, and then the tiny hairs at the nape of his neck that were coarser, almost curling as they grew. And Paul's fingers, trailing down his chest, pausing at his abdomen as if cautiously testing the waters. He'd brought his hand up, up Paul's long legs, tangling his fingertips in the curly dark hair, trailing them across a taut stomach, before finding the hipbone that he circled with his thumb, feeling Paul squirm, slightly ticklish, below him. Time had ceased to have any meaning for them....they could..maybe did...spend hours just touching each other. They were eternal in their love making. The glow was still with John as they walked their way to the bus stop. Last night had been another hurdle successfully crossed...although at the time it hadn't seemed a hurdle. Yet, maybe, in the light of their relationship, it was. And it had been good, John conceded, that Paul had taken him first. That Paul had had the confidence to make that move. John felt himself respond to Paul's megawatt smile. Yeah, life was good.

"So you mark down what has been bought...follow these columns...Artist...title...what kind of disc, L.P. or single....the cost. Then you go to the books here and you look up the same artist and see what I've paid for it so we can see what the difference is...and write in the last column what the profit is. Get the idea?"  
Rob smiled inwardly at the furrowed brow of Paul's face. He knew full well that Paul would want to get everything right...he'd picked up from John the fact that the lad was a perfectionist...or, as John termed him, O.C.D. 'He's OCD about everything' John had warned him. Well...that may well because he felt he had to take some control of his life after having had his existence controlled by someone else for a few years.  
"Run it over me, Paul...say it all back to me."  
Paul's eyes lifted to Rob's face. Rob could sense the slight anxiety.  
"Go on...get it wrong if necessary. After all, you've gotta get it wrong to get it right. Give you a couple of days and you'll be a dab hand at this."  
Behind the counter John was listening with half an ear. He was so grateful to Rob.   
"So ... artist..then title..then what kind of disc...what if it's an E.P.?.."  
"Just put E.P."  
"Okay...then what they pay for it, then look up what you paid for it and work out the difference and fill it in that column."  
"Uh huh."  
"What if something is missing..y'know, like..if you forgot to write what you paid?"  
"Make it up."  
Paul looked shocked, and John smiled to himself. That wouldn't quite fit with Paul's perfectionism. "Make it up? But...isn't that against the law?"  
John snorted, trying to hide his laughter. Paul shot him a withering glance, and John simply exploded.  
"I'm sorry, Macca" he wheezed, doubling over "But there's you with a tag and a criminal record sayin' "Isn't it against the law?"' Bit incongrous, that."  
For a moment Paul was annoyed, but then he saw Rob smile too, and he shrugged, colouring. "Okay...I'll make it up."  
Rob patted him on the shoulder encouragingly. "Honestly, Paul...you'll get used to estimating if information is missing. We're not dealing in hundreds of pounds here."  
Paul nodded slowly. The bell tinkled as the first customer of the day arrived, and Rob thrust the books into Paul's hands.  
"Here...now's your chance if this guy buys summat. Give it a go, eh? I'm gonna make us all a cuppa. Back down in a minute."  
Paul hung back as he listened to John's sales patter regarding an L.P. the young guy had just picked up. John was confident, and really quite knowledgable about some of the seventies bands. Paul wished he could be like that. Then the bell tinkled again, and another couple of guys entered the shop, bringing with them the smell of damp air and a hint of salt from off the sea. John glanced at Paul, and indicated them. Paul's eyes widened. He couldn't serve...he didn't know what to...  
"Alright?" John acknowledged them, and nodded in Paul's direction. "Need some help Paul'll see to you."  
Fuck!! Shit!! No...he wouldn't...not bloody likely...he didn't know half of what John did...  
"Wondered if you had any Elvis..early Elvis?"  
Christ! The guy with the quiffed hair was talking to him...him, Paul!...Paul looked behind him in the hope another body might have materialised, but no...  
Stop gaping, Paul, he chided himself, and launched in the direction of the fifties section, trying to form a coherent sentence before the customers put him down as some imbecile.  
"Any, er...well, fifties is here, so...it's run alphabetically. What, in particular, were you looking for?"  
Still serving the other customer, John hid a smile, keeping one ear out to what Paul was saying and what the customer was after. After all, they didn't want to lose trade. When Paul managed to locate an old Elvis single in reasonable condition and still in original packaging, he sounded as delighted as the two guys who were seeking one. Both Paul and John completed their sales at the same time, and gave cheery goodbye's to their satisfied customers. Silence fell for a moment...Paul was astounded that he'd managed to complete an action without fucking it up. John knew exactly what was going through Paul's mind, and he didn't want him to start over thinking or make a big thing of it.  
"Better enter those records in the books before you forget " John prompted, as if this was an every day occurrence " an' if you forget I've usually scribbled down here on this pad what I've sold...not in detail, just a note. You can do the same if it's ever busy, an' then enter it up when there's a lull. Y' always think you'll remember what you've sold, but, believe me, y' don't. It just goes out of y' head."  
Paul started "What? Oh..yeah...right..okay."  
"Tea, anybody? Tea?" Rob's voice entered the room. Paul thankfully took a mug of tea. Jesus. He'd only been here about fifteen minutes and he'd been initiated into the art of book keeping and served two customers. His head was in a whirl. Obviously life had been so much slower over the last few months and he felt like an outside runner that had just been placed into an experienced athletes' race. John raised his eyebrows at Rob .... don't make anything of it...leave him ... and Rob picked up the vibe quickly.  
"So, Paul...these pupils of yours"....Paul almost choked on his tea, and John had to swiftly turn away to hide a smile....." there's quite a few who've been waiting for you to come back. Obviously you'll have lost a few because of it being such a big gap since you were last here, but a few have held on. Also..some new enquiries once we put it out that you were returning. Oh, there is a stipulation, though, with this CRB...because of, er, y'know..." Rob looked awkward for a moment, then plunged on " apparently you can't be left alone with anyone."  
John butted in angrily "Why, what do they think he's gonna do? Be shifting kilos of heroin?"  
Paul coloured and hid behind his mug of tea.  
"Not my rules, John. As long as someone responsible is with him..i.e. you or me or Jacob, he's clear to teach. Jacob said if one of us is in the shop then the door being left ajar to the teaching room will suffice."  
Now it was Paul's turn to be alarmed " Teach with a door open? But that's ludicrous...it'll be distracting to pupils..an' me."  
"You don't have to have it wide open, Paul...just don't latch it." Rob shrugged. "It's the best we can do. It's fortunate Jacob managed to get you cleared at all, to be honest, with.."  
Rob halted as he saw Paul's expression, and John stepped in quickly.  
"It's fine...he'll be fine. The door left open just on the latch'll be okay. Won't it?" He turned to look at Paul, who gave a mute nod. The realisation had hit Paul that a lot of people had been working behind scenes to try and clear his name. It hadn't occurred to him before.   
"It'll be fine" he answered quietly. It had to be. He couldn't let everyone down.

Ritchie could hear the sound of the guitar drifting down the stairs. He hummed along with the tune that was being played as he stirred the sauce into the pasta. A few mid autumn leaves hit the kitchen windows, being blown down by the chill eastern wind.   
"..when I want you..in my arms..when I want you...and all your charms.."  
John's voice suddenly joined in at a louder volume, making Ritchie jump.  
"..whenever I want you..all I have to do...is dream.."  
Ritchie turned and smiled at John, who seemed in ebullient mood.  
"How did he get on?"  
"Fine. Absolutely fine. Rob threw everything at him all at once an' after the first shock he realised he can do it."  
Ritchie turned his attention back to the pasta. "Good" he nodded "That's good."  
"Mind you...we've thought this once before, haven't we, an' then he's gone poof!"  
"Well..let's hope, this time, eh?"  
John leaned on the counter, watching Ritchie. "At least I've got him where I can see him. He got a couple of new pupils today too...starting tomorrow. One is an adult who can come in the daytime, so that's handy."  
John leaned forward and pinched a piece of chopped up pepper. Ritchie made wafting motions with the spoon.  
"Oy, Lennon...there'll be nothing left. Go and get Paul down...I'll be serving in a sec."  
"What've they said at the hospital?"  
"Hmm?" Ritchie breathed deeply trying to judge if he'd put enough herbs in.  
"Y'know...Paul not going back there to work?"  
"Oh...right. Well...they never really expected Paul to stay in that job long anyway. Once he started teaching an' that. I think most of the staff he worked with assumed he'd probably do more along those lines. After all, he's bright, isn't he? Worth more than doing an orderlies job. This pasta's nearly done..get him down, can y'?"  
John pushed himself off the counter. "Will do, mon capitan."  
Ritchie hummed to himself as he warmed the plates. Paul had been well liked at the hospital, and he would be missed there, but no one .. including Trevor...had really expected him to stay long. Hearing the sound of the guitar cease, Ritchie smiled. Paul's love was music. He ate, slept and drank it. Working and teaching in a music environment was tailor made for him. And, hopefully, if all went smoothly, it would build his confidence. This was going to be quite a demanding year to get through.

"...on a Thursday afternoon, so it fits in with half day closing at the shop."  
"What will he have to do?"  
John shrugged. "Dunno. It's like a rehabilitation course thingy...y'know...talks on what drugs do, why y' shouldn't take 'em, sell 'em, peddle 'em...stuff like that. Oh, and helping out at a drug rehabiliation clinic so you get to meet people first hand that have been affected by drugs."  
Ritchie stirred his tea, thinking. "Hmm..right. How long is this for?"  
John shrugged. "Till they reckon he's learned his lesson, I guess."  
Big blue eyes gazed at John. "But Paul doesn't have a lesson to learn, does he? I mean...it's not something he did out of choice."  
"Nope. But it's still part of his sentence."  
John wasn't happy about this part of Paul's sentence, Ritchie knew. The tagging, the curfew...that John could cope with...but attending sessions at a drug clinic...being made to mix with people who had drug habits...John found that worrying. Paul was very sensitive as it was, and seeing people whose lives had been badly affected was not, in John's mind, going to do Paul's mental state any good. He'd tried to explain this to Steve but, although Steve had been sympathetic, he had pointed out that this was part of Paul's sentencing... the alternative would have been him serving time, and put like that John just had to go along with the notion that it was the better option.  
In the silence they could hear Paul continually practicing a melodic phrase on the guitar. The sweet notes, perfectly executed, carried into the living room. John shifted to a more comfortable position on the settee.  
"They said I can take him on Thursday for the first session, and wait in the waiting room, but after that he'll need to go on his own. Something about independent learning and rehabilitation skills. I hope he don't come up against any loonies."  
"I'm sure he'll be fine, John."  
John hummed ... he had his doubts. He wasn't happy.  
"He's doing okay, though...at the shop?" Ritchie attempted to divert John's thoughts. It worked. John brightened up considerably.  
"Oh, yeah. I think if I wasn't there he could run the place single handed...teach a lesson, do the books an' serve all at the same time."  
"A master of multi-tasking, eh?"  
"Well, y'know Paul. Can do anything he puts his mind to."  
"He'd miss you if you weren't there though. That's the plus point for him...he gets to work in music and have you."  
John had no answer to that. His smile was that of the cat that had got the cream.

It was a lazy Sunday morning and John woke in a dreamy haze aware of the weight of Paul nestled on his chest. Despite it being a cold November day out John was roasting, and the weight of Paul was only adding fuel to his fire. Carefully, so as not to wake him, he slid out from underneath Paul's body and Paul slithered gracefully onto his side, never blinking an eyelid. Paul was always like a small radiator anyway, John conceded, no wonder he was so hot. He wafted the bedclothes gently to let some cooling air in and was distracted by Paul's naked body lying next to him. Well, that was not unusual. He was always distracted by Paul's body. But seeing him lying like this, unaware, asleep, John had the luxury of being able to observe more fully. His eyes were inevitably drawn to the two scars low down on Paul's abdomen. One was small and a pale pink in colour, but the other was a much darker red, the skin around it still puckered. Paul was due to be discharged from the hospital after his next appointment at the beginning of December. John touched the scar with his thumb gently...wonderingly...It had nearly cost Paul his life. It was now almost fully healed, but the scar would remain. So, the hospital warned, would a certain weakness in that area. He had been warned never to lift anything heavy or do anything which would place unnecessary strain there. John circled the scar with the soft pad of his thumb, and Paul shifted slightly, drawing his legs up. The bed covers slid off his legs and John's attention was caught by the black bracelet around Paul's right ankle that was usually hidden by his socks and trousers. His eyes were drawn back when he heard Paul mumble something, and he found Paul was watching him, eyes half closed and dark with sleep.  
"Whaty'doin'Johnny?" the words were slurred. John smiled, and poked Paul on his nose.  
"I was hot...just cooling down"  
Paul yawned widely and nestled back under John's armpit, determinedly burying his head. "S'tooearlymstilltiredlessgobacktosleep"  
John smiled fondly, and drew the covers back over the slumbering figure. Paul had definitely slept more since he'd been released. Maybe he needed more rest to recover from the trauma of everything that had gone on...John didn't know...but it wasn't unusual for Paul to already be asleep when John went to bed. Then again, he often had a disturbed sleep. John had swiftly got used to that fact. Paul had dreams...probably, John thought wryly, fucking nightmares. He'd often hear Paul start to mumble and shift around in his sleep. John was quite wired to this element of their relationship now. As soon as Paul began stirring John would wake too, and with a quick shake rouse Paul enough to pull him from whatever nightmare was about to take place. Paul would immediately drift straight back off to sleep and now John was used to this nightly routine he found he could too. He had no idea how often in the night this took place. John yawned, now quite wide awake. He could hear the November wind gusting around their small back yard and the clatter of garden pots blowing over. A smell began to drift up the stairs. Bacon? Was that bacon? John's nose twitched, and his stomach growled. Ritchie must be cooking breakfast. A Sunday morning breakfast. He poked Paul in the ribs.  
"Oy..you hungry? Smells like Ritchie's doin' a fry-up."  
Paul's only response was to burrow further under John's arm. John shrugged and sat up, effectively depriving Paul of his human cushion. He reached for his dressing-gown.  
"John" Paul whined, raising his head and surveying John from under a tangle of dark hair. John looked at him fondly.  
"Wanna cup of tea?"  
A cat like smile extended across Paul's face. "Mmm...that would be nice."  
"And a bacon sandwich?"  
Paul stretched his arms above his head. "Even nicer."  
"And would you like your amazing boyfriend to get all this for you?"  
Paul's smile grew even wider. "That would be awesome."  
"An' what's in it for me, eh?"  
"Hmm...let's think?" Paul pretended to ponder.  
John leapt on top of him and caught his arms, grasping Paul around his wrists, and stretched them above his head, pinioning him to the headboard.  
"Don't!"  
The word was quiet but it burst forth from Paul. John felt Paul freeze underneath him, and in Paul's eyes he could see fear. Cold naked fear.   
It so shocked John that he immediately let go of Paul's wrists and backed off, holding his hands up in surrender.   
The shift in mood was palpable. It was as if the temperature of the room had dropped by several degrees.  
Paul drew a breath, and so did John, unaware of the fact he'd been holding one.  
John sat back on his heels. He shook his head.  
"I'm sorry..I didn't mean to scare you..I was only..." John was confused.  
He saw the colour come back into Paul's face. Paul swallowed audibly. "Sorry..it's just..just..." he faded out. He couldn't say. He was probably never going to say. But to John it was a revelation. Some fucked up things had certainly gone on in Paul's life.  
John smoothed some hair off Paul's face.  
"Still want that tea?"  
Paul nodded, thankful that John had not questioned him about his reaction. He reached out a hand to John, tracing a forefinger down John's chest.  
"I love you" he whispered. John captured Paul's hand and kissed the fingertips gently, one at a time.  
"I know. I love you too."


	5. Chapter 5

Paul sank into the soft cushions of the settee in George's little flat and gazed around him at the familiar room. He'd not been here for such a long time. He thought back. How long had it been? It must have been June, before his birthday, and now they were over halfway through November. Gandhi had settled in his lap as if Paul had never gone away, accepting, in the way animals did, that Paul happened to be here again and knew exactly where, behind his ears, he liked to be scratched. Gandhi purred and pushed his head against Paul's knuckles. Paul felt the warmth of the tabby's body settle against him, and Paul relaxed back against the settee, listening to George clattering in the cupboards and the sound of the kettle boiling. He wondered idly if George's tea would still taste of spices. Certainly the flat held the familiar smell that brought back a multitude of memories for Paul. His remembrance of his first few months spent here living with George were vague. He'd been such a fucked up mess when he'd arrived. How the hell had George ever coped with him? He didn't remember ever explaining anything to George. He'd just turned up on his doorstep and moved in without so much as a by- your- leave ... no explanation .. Christ! Paul chewed his lip...he'd probably not even spoken to George for days..weeks, even. His head had been in such a fog of despair.  
"Here y' go .. tea, milk, no sugar, yeah?"  
Paul took the proffered mug off George and gave him a beaming smile. He owed so much to this guy. He wanted to tell him, but was too embarrassed.  
"Thanks, Geo."  
George settled by Paul and reached over to Paul's lap to absent mindedly stroke the cat. They exchanged a glance, smiling at each other.  
"Still a fuss pot."  
George nodded. "Typical male, eh? Wants all the attention."  
Gandhi's purr increased in volume, as if he knew he was being spoken about. George looked affectionately at Paul.  
"How're things going then?"  
Paul nodded as he sipped his tea...yup, it still bore a strange flavour. "Okay, ta..fine."  
George looked at him curiously. "So what brings you over here today then? Ritchie hasn't thrown you out has he?"  
Paul shook his head. "Nope. Steve..the probation officer...said if I wanted to go somewhere I could ask permission, as long as it was in the daytime, so I asked if I could come and visit you. Haven't been here for ages."  
A warm glow burst in George's chest.  
"That's..that's awesome, mate."  
Paul glanced at George in amusement. "What? What is?"  
George waved his arm expansively, indicating the cramped flat, and nearly knocking Paul's mug out of his hand in the process. "That you should want to come here."  
Paul's brow furrowed slightly, and he muttered into his mug "Well, you are me best mate."  
The glow in the pit of George's stomach grew.  
"Well..I thought that would be..well, I dunno..John, probably."  
Paul looked at him wide eyed in amazement. "Not John, no..he's..well, he's my boyfriend."  
"And that doesn't count as a best mate?"  
Paul chuckled. "Yeah..it does, but in a different way. After all, I'm not gonna sleep with you."  
"You did when you first turned up here, mate." George said softly. He remembered only too well the beaten up young man who'd shared his bed, slept for two weeks, had struggled with nightmares and traumas that George couldn't even begin to guess at and who had clung to George in the darkness, hanging on to George's nightclothes with determined fingers as if he would drown if he let go.  
Their eyes met. Paul raised his brows. "Did I?"  
George smiled "Yeah...you certainly did."  
Paul shook his head. "I don't remember."  
"Nothing?"  
Paul drew a breath. Maybe he did, but they were the kind of memories he'd tried to stamp out. "Not really, no."  
Silence fell for a moment. George continued stroking Gandhi. Cats were very relaxing creatures. Every home should have one.  
"So..." George tactfully changed the subject...how the hell had they ended up in Paul's past anyway? "How's work going?"  
He felt Paul perk up. "Oh great. I've got a lot of new pupils...a bit of a squash really 'cos I can't teach later than five 'cos of being home before the curfew but a few of the adults come in the day, an' a Saturday's fully booked." He sounded confident and George nodded thankfully.  
"Going well then?"  
Paul sipped his tea...cumin, he'd decided...that's what it tasted of. "Yeah, really well."  
"An' how's John?"  
He couldn't help but notice Paul blush slightly. "Ah, he's great."  
"So what's he up to today if you're here?"  
"He's gone with Ritchie to his mam's for Sunday lunch."  
"Didn't you want to do that too?"  
Paul looked at him wide eyed "No. I wanted to come and see you. Anyway..." he took another sip "...I don't really know Ritchie's mam, though I'm sure she's very nice.." he amended swiftly.  
"Were you invited?" George was suddenly defensive on Paul's part.  
Paul's lips twitched in a smile. "Yes, I was, and I politely declined saying I had alternative plans...ie..YOU!"  
George chuckled. "Okay. Just checking. Of course we could go for Sunday dinner to my mam's."  
Paul coloured. "No, thank you! Love your mam to bits but it would just be too embarrassing."  
George laughed out loud, and Paul joined in. "She regales friends all the time about how her son's friend locked himself in the bathroom on Christmas day."  
Paul went even redder. "Yeah, I bet she does" he muttered into his drink. George nudged him jokingly.  
"Come on Paul...y' have t' see the funny side of it. Anyway, she never stops askin' about you. Every time I talk to her or see her. You ought to find the time to go see her at some point. She'd love to see you."  
Paul nodded obediently. There was a lot of things he ought to do, he was aware of that. But internally he was still hesitant, still unsure. He was becoming more confident..he knew he was...he could stand back and look at himself and be objective...but certain things...relationships, intimacy.. he didn't do as well. People asked too many questions. George, watching him, saw Paul disappear into himself. Some habits don't change, George thought wryly.  
"Well, since you're here, what would you like to do?"  
Paul turned to George, a shyness exhibiting itself.  
"I wondered if you could help me..."  
George raised an enquiring eyebrow. "With what? I mean, yeah, I'm sure I can, but doing what?"  
"Christmas is coming..." George had a sudden vivid image of last Christmas and Paul and ... oh shit, let's not go there..."....something, but I don't know what."  
George blinked, dragging himself back to the present. "Sorry...just lost it there for a moment. What did you say?"  
Paul looked closely at George and he felt that Paul had just read his thoughts. Paul looked back down at his mug, tearing his gaze away.  
"Just wanted to get something nice for John, and I wondered if you could help."  
Relief flooded George's body. "Shit! Yeah, course I can..like what?"  
Paul met George's eyes again, and he was chewing his lip hesitantly. Fuck...George swore to himself...Paul probably had picked up what he was thinking. He sensed that withdrawal again, and was reminded how he used to feel having Paul around, as if he was treading on eggshells, careful not to upset him.  
Paul shrugged his shoulders, and fell silent. George took a deep breath. Right, let's pull him back again.  
"What kinds of things does John like...apart from you, that is." He attempted a joke and to his relief Paul smiled.  
"I just don't know...I really want to get something nice..I've got some money.." he added as an afterthought, and George hid a smile. Money had been a big issue with Paul for years of his life...having to earn some for his family after the death of his mother, not having any while Luke controlled his life, a pittance for doing shelf filling jobs when he came to George to live, and then the hospital which, although not well-paid, had provided Paul with his first regular wage. George fondly, and somewhat regretfully, recalled the academically bright lad he'd first made friends with, top of the class in most subjects, destined to do well in life.....George sighed heavily.  
"I wasn't assuming you wouldn't have, Paul."  
Paul flashed him a quick glance under his eyelashes, unsure how to react to the sigh that George had just heaved. Maybe George didn't want to help him with this? Maybe...a sudden thought hit Paul...maybe George thought he'd only come over here because he needed help..maybe George thought that he, Paul, was just using him...maybe..maybe...  
George's hand on Paul's arm suddenly grounded him.  
"It's fine, of course I'll help you..."  
Paul butted in quickly, his eyes bright "I didn't come just because..I came because..'cos I wanted to see you."  
George smiled warmly. He resisted the temptation to hug Paul...not a done thing now he had a boyfriend..he probably got lots of hugs off John. Paul brightened up at the sight of George's smile, the worry leaving his face.  
"I never thought for one moment that you had. Now...present for John. What's your budget and what are you thinking of? Socks?"  
Paul grinned. "Noooo. Not socks..although he could do with some."  
"What then? Any ideas? I need something to work off."  
Paul put his mug down on the coffee table and nervously twiddled his fingers. "I wanted to get something..something nice.." he winced at the bland word. "Just don't know what."  
"What's your budget?" George tried to keep Paul on track. Paul glanced up at him.  
"I haven't got lots, but probably about fifty pounds..maybe a bit more."  
"Anything to do with music?"  
Paul shook his head. "He's got lots of stuff like records and CD's and that."  
"D.V.D.'s?"  
Another shake. "Nah. Anyway, Ritchie has Netflix and we can watch things on that."  
George sighed, but quietly this time. He wasn't at all materialistic and didn't really see the sense of spending on anything unless it was a life essential.  
"What about a decent bottle of wine?"  
Paul hummed "Trouble is, you drink it an' it's gone. I wanted to get him something he could keep."  
"Ah..a keepsake. Now that narrows it down. Cufflinks?"  
"He always wears t-shirts an' that."  
"A watch?"  
"He's got one..a good one."  
"Well, what doesn't he have? You must have an idea?"  
Paul chewed his thumbnail, his eyes dark, thinking. Suddenly George saw them widen.  
"I know" he turned excitedly to George. "I've got an idea. He loves drawing...could we get a really good sketch book and some proper pencils..maybe charcoals an' that. An' could we get a sketchbook that's engraved on the cover with his name? Places'll do that, won't they?" He looked appealingly at George as if George could produce said object there and then.  
George smiled encouragingly. "That's a fantastic idea. I'll have a look round next time I go into the city centre..there'll be artists' supplies an' that. I'll let you know."  
"How? I wouldn't want John to know?"  
"Ritchie. I'll communicate via Ritchie. How's that? Haven't got yourself a phone yet then?"  
Paul shook his head. "No. It's on my list of to do. Soon as I can afford it."  
"Are you earning okay?" It wasn't George's place to pry, but he didn't want to think of Paul's musical skills being abused.  
"Yeah. Yeah, I am, actually. Especially with the pupils. It's just..haven't got round to a phone yet. I'm always busy an' John and Ritchie let me borrow theirs if I want to look something up, so..." Paul shrugged expressively.  
"Ha...you nearly wore Ritchie's out when we first got to know him. You lived on it looking up old fifties songs on Youtube, I seem to recall."  
Paul coloured. "Yeah, well...." he trailed off, unable to offer any defence.  
"Do you know" George mused "that's over a year ago now...or about a year ago. That we got to know Ritchie, that is."  
Paul nodded. He didn't really want to go down there. It had been a year of upheavals...although not only had it brought Ritchie into their life it had brought John. And maybe it had been worth it just for that reason alone. Paul's eyes softened thinking about him. The world seemed a much better place when John was at his side. John with his curling auburn hair and his stupid woolly hats and scarves and Buddy Holly glasses and amber eyes and his silly faces and his nasal voice that made Paul shiver just to think of it and his fingers and his hands..his beautiful hands...and the way he could make Paul laugh and feel protected like no one else could...not even George...George...  
Paul looked up from his wandering thoughts to find George watching him. George gave an understanding smile.  
"Well, Paul, since you are here and that's your Christmas present for John sorted, what say you help me prepare lunch for us both? I've got this new recipe...an awesome creamy coconut and coriander sauce served with rice and peppers. Come on, I'll show you how it's done."

Paul slotted the key into the lock of the green front door. He'd made sure to get back in good time before his curfew ended. The house had the empty silence that spoke of no one else yet home. Paul shut the door behind him and, after a moment's hesitation, locked it again. He gave an involuntary shiver, although he wasn't cold. There was something about the emptiness...it put the wind up him. He didn't know why. It set his nerves on edge. It was quiet. Too quiet. And dark. The gloom of a late November evening permeated the building, making normal cosy corners seem creepy, as if they hid unknown terrors. Paul flicked on a light quickly, turning swiftly to check no one was behind him...or no thing.  
He muttered to himself not to be stupid. He grit his teeth and marched quickly into the sitting room, switching on every light as he did so. The fridge in the kitchen suddenly made a humming sound and he visibly jumped. For a moment he stood in the middle of the room. The emptiness was oppressive. He felt as if unknown and unseen presences were surrounding him. He turned swiftly, checking again that no one was there, no one behind him, no one hiding......then waves of panic began to set in. No matter how hard he tried he couldn't stop them. They were like tidal waves rolling over him. Suddenly his head was filled with sound and there were threatening forces all around him. With a choked cry he fled for the front door, struggling with the lock, to get the key to fit, to turn, feeling breathing behind him, the hairs on his neck standing on end....after a frantic tussle he managed to get the front door open and he fled from the house, out into the darkening streets, fear giving speed to his flight, and straight into the arms of......  
"Paul!! Paul, what the..what the fuck's the matter?"  
"John!! Oh, John, thank God..." Paul clutched at John, his breath coming in heaving gasps, his eyes wide and wild.  
"What's wrong? Are you?..."  
"There was no one there...at home..and I...I thought..." Paul became aware of Ritchie looking at him with an expression of astonishment and dismay, and of John holding him, his eyes questioning, puzzled. Reality hit Paul. He saw himself from their perspective. A twenty two year old who was running from shadows, from ghosts and ghoolies that didn't exist. He halted, his eyes wide and panicked. He sensed John and Ritchie exchange a glance, and Paul curled inside himself, mortified. What the hell must they be thinking?  
"You knew we'd be coming soon...we said we'd be back by six," John reminded him, his eyes never leaving Paul's face, trying to ascertain what had gone on. Paul bit his lip nervously. It looked so stupid. He looked so stupid. But the empty house...it wasn't empty..there were ... there were .. they didn't understand... they didn't know .. shadows .. concealing evil ... demons ... in his mind .. his conjuring ..  
Paul met John's eyes. He didn't know what to say. "I'm sorry" he murmured.  
John smiled, although his eyes remained serious. "What for? You've not done anything wrong. Come on, let's get back, shall we? Where were you running to anyway? Hmm?"  
Paul shook his head, the darkness and the demons leaving, dissipating, trails of black vapour swirling into the air and dispersing. John pulled him to his side and slung his arm around Paul's shoulders as the three of them made their way home in silence. Paul didn't realise how far he'd run. It was surely a miracle that he'd bumped into Ritchie and John ... he could have run in many different directions.  
"Bloody hell, Paul, you've left the door wide open." Ritchie's voice jolted Paul from his reverie, and he glanced up to see the green front door standing ajar. Ritchie spurted ahead to check all was okay, and John glanced down at Paul, concern darkening his eyes. He gave Paul's shoulders a squeeze.  
"What made you run, eh?"  
He couldn't explain. He shook his head.  
Maybe he was going crazy?  
Was there something wrong with him?  
He looked at John, chewing his lip nervously, seeking reassurance.  
Paul could see the uncertainty mirrored in John's eyes, and his heart sank.

"I can remember George once saying, ages ago, Paul didn't like being on his own."  
Ritchie poured boiling water into the mugs. John watched him from narrowed eyes. Paul's behaviour had shaken him. He'd never seen him come that unhinged before.  
He shuffled his feet, leaning his weight on the counter, garnering relief from such an everyday action as seeing tea being made.  
"Christ knows what the fuck was going through Paul's mind. He was running as if all the hounds of hell were after him."  
Ritchie looked at John. Cut the bullshit.  
"Are y' worried?"  
John shifted his weight to another foot. Sometimes admitting to something made it seem more real. He shrugged. He wasn't saying either way. Ritchie turned his attention back to making tea. Fair enough... if John didn't want to face doubts..  
"He's asleep." John stated.  
It was what Paul did. Shut down. He was curled up in bed, eyes tightly closed, a frown creasing his otherwise perfect features as if he was debating and analysing his earlier actions.  
"Maybe he needs it." Ritchie added.  
"Needs what?"  
"Sleep. He's still recovering, John."  
"He's due to be discharged in a couple of weeks."  
"Yeah, I know, but still..."  
"He was doing so well." John's voice sounded plaintive. Ritchie glanced at him in concern.  
"He still is, John. He's doin' great. You know that. This is..just a minor blip."  
"We shouldn't have left him."  
Ritchie shoved a mug across the counter to John.  
"No..no, maybe we shouldn't."

Paul wasn't asleep. He'd screwed his eyes tight shut to give that impression when John had checked on him a bit ago. He was so embarrassed over his actions. What kind of irrational fears had driven him to flee what was a perfectly normal house? He stirred in bed, burying his nose in John's pillow. He wished the world would just go away. Just leave him. He wasn't worth worrying over anyway. He'd been told that often enough. Tell someone something enough times and they begin to believe it. There was a black hole somewhere in the pit of Paul's stomach and it's lazy tentacles were starting to spread, worming their way upwards. He wasn't worth anything. Just an object to be used for other men's pleasure. Left alone, locked up in a flat, until required. The loneliness. The emptiness. The boredom. And the fear. Not knowing what was going to happen to him. What was planned. Paul drew a deep breath. Maybe it would just be better if he ended it all now. Rid his friends of the problem he'd become. The black tentacles were reaching upwards, winding around his soul like tendrils. Just..go...not be any more.. just not be...  
He felt the bed dip, and squirmed lower under the sheets. His mind could only chant 'go away' ... whoever it was...it would be John ... of course it would be John. Someone touched him and he jumped, startled, and mumbled 'go away' taking up the mantra his mind had started chanting.  
"I'm not going anywhere, Paul"  
Paul wrestled with the sheets, disappearing below them ... ' 'm not worth it' ....  
Whoa! Where had that just come from? John's eyes narrowed, and he determinedly wrestled the sheets back out of Paul's clutches. Paul put up a good fight, John gave him that. Tugging viciously back on the bedclothes, his legs kicking until John had to move before he was thrown off, but John was even more determined. He pounced on Paul, dragging him up from under the sheets, a tangle of dark hair and long legs and wide desperate eyes, limbs flailing inadequately in an attempt to retain independence. It was like trying to hold an eel ... John couldn't help but give a wry smile .. he'd never tried to catch an eel.  
He captured the struggling figure, encircling Paul's arms to stop them from thrashing around and then sat on his legs so he couldn't kick. It was exhausting. John was exhausted, just trying to restrain him. Paul attempted another escape but John held on, his lips pulled tight. Finally, Paul gave up. John could feel it in the droop of his body.  
"I'm not letting go, Paul, not until you calm down."  
Paul's head suddenly flopped onto John's shoulder, and John heard him mumble something, though he couldn't tell what. He could feel Paul's breath warm against his collarbone.  
John brought his hand up slowly, cautiously, to the back of Paul's head and smoothed some of the strands of hair.  
"Now what was all that about, eh?"  
There was another incoherent mumble, and John strained to catch some words .. any words. Paul's hands extricated themselves from John's clutches, and he slid them around the back of John's neck, burying himself further into the comforting shoulders, relishing the smell that was John.  
"I'm fucked up."  
John shook his head. "No, you're not. You just had a moment. That's all."  
"Again." Paul sounded impatient at himself, and John hid a smile.  
"Well, I reckon you just like keeping us on our toes, young man." John stated, attempting to inject some humour into what was otherwise a serious moment.  
"I fuckin' hate Luke." The words were quiet, mumbled into John's shoulder. Ah .. so that's what this had been about. John rubbed Paul's upper arms encouragingly.  
"I think we're all with you on that one mate."  
"I don't know why you bother with me"  
The words struck a chill with John. His eyes darkened.  
"I bother with you because I happen to fuckin' love you. Now let's not have any more of that kind of talk, or I'll get angry."  
Paul hushed for a moment, his fingers slipping through the hairs at the nape of John's neck. John could feel Paul's breathing calming down. Words of wisdom from George came back to him. 'Don't let him dwell on things' 'Don't allow him to become depressed' 'Try and keep things as normal as possible'. Where had George gleaned all this wisdom from? For a guy that hadn't yet reached twenty two he was like a fount of wisdom. John thought fondly of George, and it prompted him to ask Paul about his day. Like George suggested .. aim for normality, no matter how bland.  
"How was your day with George? What did you get up to?"  
He felt rather than heard Paul sigh. For a moment John thought Paul wasn't going to take the bait, but then he did.  
"Okay."  
"Just okay?"  
Another sigh. "Good, thanks."  
"An' what did you do? Let me guess .. cooked a meal?"  
Paul nodded against John's chest.  
"So .. you've eaten then? You're not hungry?"  
This time a shake.  
John gave Paul a hug. "In that case, shall we get some sleep? We've got to open the shop tomorrow .. Rob's off on a record hunt for new stock, remember?"  
John got a nod in response.  
"Going to Manchester to some record fair. We need a new supply of seventies vinyl. D'you want a cup of tea before we go to bed? Go to bed properly, that is."  
John was beginning to feel mentally exhausted, but he pressed on regardless, trying to pull Paul round. Trying to chase the demons away.  
"I'd like a cup of tea, please."  
Phew .. John breathed a sigh of relief .. a normal response to a normal question. He released Paul's arms and extricated himself, pulling back and surveying his boyfriend for the first time. Paul gave a hesitant smile, and John poked his nose.  
"You're trouble, you are, y' know that? Right .. a cup of tea it is. Do NOT go back to sleep until you've had it, okay?"

John woke Paul quite a few times that night, pulling him swiftly out of dreams that were destined to become nightmares. He had little or no sleep himself. He was just too worried Paul might, in some half sleep, do something stupid. He lay listening to Paul's even breaths from between parted lips, and linked his hands behind his head as the hours crept slowly by. Some of Paul's words echoed through John's mind. 'I'm fucked up' 'I dunno why you bother with me' and what was the other one he often came out with? Oh, yeah .. 'I'm nothing' .. Paul's favourite when he was down. How the hell had any human being come to such a low existence?

John was relieved to see the dawn. He must have dozed at some point. Paul was still asleep beside him, looking unbelievably angelic and at peace. John snorted. Well at least one of them had got some rest. He could hear Ritchie moving around downstairs, obviously on an early shift at the hospital. The alarm said it was just after six. John slid quietly from the bed and, pulling his dressing gown round himself, padded slowly downstairs. Ritchie looked up in surprise.  
"John! Bit early for you, innit?"  
John yawned "Yeah .. mornin' to you too Ritch."  
Ritchie grinned back, and grabbed a mug off the drainer for John.  
"How's Paul?"  
John yawned widely again and scratched his sticking up hair, making it even more dishevilled. "Sleepin' like a baby, little bugger."  
Ritchie looked solemnly at John from his big blue eyes. "An' you've not slept?"  
"Hardly a wink" John admitted " Too worried about the state Paul was in .. thought he might .. y'know .." John trailed off, unable to voice the concern they both understood.  
For a moment they stood in silence, each wrapped in their own thoughts, then Ritchie started, glancing at the clock.  
"I need to be off. Are y' gonna be okay with him? Any problems, y'know, just..."  
John cut him off. "Fine. We'll be fine. He'll be fine. See y' tonight."  
Still with a small worried frown creasing his brow, Ritchie nodded. "Good luck" he whispered.

When John went back upstairs Paul was awake, a slightly confused look on his features. Having only just roused he couldn't recall what had gone on .. only knew that something had. John jumped in quickly. He certainly wasn't going to let Paul dwell on anything.  
"Mornin' Macca ... cuppa?" He thrust his own mug of tea at Paul. Paul blinked, startled, something ... something wasn't ... yesterday? John saw the wheels began to slowly turn, and he steeled himself for the revelation. Paul's eyes widened and his mouth formed a perfectly round O. John brushed everything over.  
"Ritchie's gone 'cos he's early in ..."  
"John ..."  
"...and we've got to unlock 'cos Rob's in Manchester ..."  
"John?..."  
"..and I can get you another cup if .."  
"John? Yesterday?" Paul lifted huge worried eyes to John.  
John sighed, and sat down on the bed. "Yeah? Yesterday what?"  
Paul's eyes scanned John's face, seeking confirmation. Was it a dream, or had he really ... George .. he'd been to see George .. they'd cooked dinner, and he'd come home and no one had been here and ...  
John watched, like a flickering television screen, the emotions and slowly dawning awareness cross Paul's face.  
"I .. I .. " Paul licked his lips nervously. It was all so confusing. "I did something .. "  
John shook his head. "It doesn't matter. That was yesterday .. this is today." God! Profound words there, John, he chided himself.  
"What did I do, John?" Paul had laid his hand beseechingly on top of John's arm. There was so much trust in the action it twisted in John's gut.  
John heaved a sigh. He tried to keep it brief. "You got home before us. There was no one in and .. and you came to look for us."  
Not quite a lie. He could feel Paul's eyes scanning his face, trying to determine if he was being told the truth.  
"Is that it? Is that all?"  
John met his gaze. Be honest, Lennon. You owe it to him. "Not quite .. I think you panicked a bit being on your own .. you ran out of the house to find us and left the door wide open."  
Fortunately Paul seized on the 'door wide open' rather than the 'panicked'.  
"Oh .. oh fuck. Was everything okay?"  
John looked curiously at him. He obviously didn't remember .. at least, not fully. Now that was interesting. Did Paul's mind block out things he didn't want to recall?  
John licked his dry lips. "Yeah" he said flatly.  
Paul smiled, and it was his normal smile. "Thank goodness for that, then. Oh, ta for the tea .. is it yours?"  
Now John felt confused. Surely Paul could recollect? ... Well, never mind. Ignorance is bliss. He forced a return smile.  
"Yeah, it's mine, but it's okay. I'll go an' make another."  
Feeling dazed, John exited the room, and heard Paul slip out of the bed behind him, bare feet padding quietly around the room.  
John shook his head.

John came out of the shower to the smell of Ritchie cooking, the little kitchen full of steam, and the sound of Paul playing his guitar .. still he had the battered instrument that Ritchie had procured for him, with John's help, over a year ago now. The beautiful chords of a Green Day song filtered through. John, towell draped round him, looked at Ritchie and Ritchie looked at him.  
"How was he?"  
John shrugged. "As if nothing had happened. I don't think he remembers, Ritchie. I really don't."  
Ritchie went back to slicing mushrooms. "Maybe that's not such a bad thing."  
John leaned on the door jamb, pulling the door closer to so that Paul couldn't hear.  
"Is it though?"  
Ritchie paused, knife in hand. "What? Why? I would have thought.."  
"I don't think he forgets so much as stores it away. Puts it somewhere safe, and then it emerges when he doesn't want it to. Like .. if something triggers it. That's where all those fuckin' nightmares come from. He buries things. Things he doesn't want to remember."  
"Oh" Realisation and understanding dawned on Ritchie's face. So all those .. the suicide attempt .. panic attacks .. all just ..  
"Hidden, yeah. Maybe he doesn't even know he's done half of the stuff he has." John added.  
Ritchie nodded slowly. That made sense. "D'you mean like a split personality?"  
John shook his head. "No, not like that. I don't think Paul has a split personality. I just think he .. if he can't cope with something, that he packs it away in his head. Trouble is, you can only pack away a certain amount, can't you. Like squeezing to much luggage into a little suitcase. Once it breaks everything piles out again."  
Ritchie was desperately trying to follow John's analogy. He nodded, his brow creasing slightly.  
"Yeah, yeah, I know what y'mean .. I think."  
"I mean, for instance..." John was warming up to his theory now, and stood up straighter, pushing himself off the door jamb " Try asking him about something that happened .. summat like last Christmas or, I dunno .. anything he's not happy about, an' see if he can recall it."  
Whoa! Ritchie wasn't too sure about that. He wasn't sure he wanted to live through memories of last Christmas again either.  
"Y'see" John said triumphantly "If YOU don't wanna remember things, then think how much less Paul will .. except, y'know, like when he doesn't have control over his mental state .. like when he's asleep. An' then it all starts comin' out."  
Ritchie began slicing the mushrooms again. "Hmm .. an interesting theory, John."  
John folded his arms across his damp chest, and leaned back on the door jamb again. "Well, that's what I think, anyway. He really couldn't recall anything that happened last night properly, so I .. I sort of played it down a bit."  
Ritchie glanced up at him. "In what way?"  
"I told him he came out to look for us 'cos the house was empty and he left the front door wide open."  
"Oh, right. Okay. Worth telling me that, innit, so I can back you up."  
"Smells lovely, what y' making?" They both jumped guiltily as Paul's voice joined in, his face peering around the door.  
Ritchie, flustered, waved his knife around. "Oh, er .. shepherd's pie an' peas. Be ready in about forty minutes or so."  
"Great. Just got time to work out another section of this song then before tomorrow." Paul suddenly yawned. He ran slim fingers through his heavy dark hair. "Jesus, I'm tired. I don't think I got much sleep last night."  
As he turned to go back into the parlour he didn't see the amused glance that Ritchie and John exchanged.


	6. Chapter 6

The next couple of weeks passed smoothly. John breathed a sigh of relief. Paul seemed to be himself ... whatever himself normally was ... caught up in his music and his teaching and helping John run the shop and organise, with his usual efficiency, all the new vinyl Rob had procured at various record fairs around the country. John had a fond image of Paul sitting on the store room floor, legs crossed, pen in his mouth, frowning at the normally not very organised log book in which all new purchases were recorded, surrounded by piles of old vinyl records of all types and descriptions. It gave Paul something to do, and kept his mind off other matters, John conceded. 

Paul was attending his rehabilitation sessions at the clinic and at other centres on a Thursday afternoon, occasionally accompanied by his probation officer, but most of the time on his own. He didn't talk much about what went on and John didn't push for details. Occasionally Paul seemed withdrawn after them, as if he was mulling things over in his mind, but he seemed to be coping. And for that John was grateful.

Outside Christmas lights were being erected by the council down the little back street in which the shop was situated, being strung between lamp posts. John observed a couple of guys up a ladder, untangling the wires of a string of lights, the headlamps of their truck providing them with necessary lighting in the gloom of a late November day. John sucked on the end of the pencil he was rolling around between his teeth as he watched them. It was heading towards closing time .. almost four thirty .. and John wondered idly why they hadn't thought to start in the daytime when they would have had more light to see by. The little shop had been busy that day. It had it's stream of regular customers and neither Paul or John had found time for a break. John had dodged out for a few minutes to the pie shop across the road to come back with a cheese and onion pasty for them which they'd devoured while continuing to serve customers. People that didn't normally visit the shop occasionally dropped in too hoping to find 'that' special present for a special someone.  
John, wrapping up an old Elvis L.P., caught sight of Paul out of the corner of his eye. He was also busy wrapping up a record and chatting to the customer as if they were old friends. John knew what he was getting Paul for Christmas. He was getting him his own mobile phone .. and he was paying up front for the contract too so Paul didn't have any financial worries hanging over him. It might, he thought wryly to himself, mean he wasn't missing his own so often because |Paul happened to be borrowing it ' just to look something up'.   
Paul, feeling John's eyes upon him, had turned and smiled. John's heart gave it's familiar lurch. He drank in the oh so familiar face with it's tousled dark hair and shining eyes, and thanked heaven yet again that, whatever the problems, Paul had come into his life. There was an intimacy in that smile, and John swore that if he hadn't a shop full of customers browsing he would have dragged Paul off to the store room and ravished him there and then. The twinkle in Paul's eye told John that Paul knew full well what he was thinking.

The shop bell tinkled announcing the arrival of Paul's four thirty pupil. Almost home time. The six o'clock curfew was still on yet for Paul, and probably would be until the summer, so they were quite prompt at locking up and usually made it home in good time. Neither wanted to take any risks. As stipulated, Paul left the door slightly ajar, and John could hear the sound of a guitar being tuned. When Paul began the chords to a well-known Christmas song John found he was automatically humming along. The guys outside were testing the lights, and the sudden twinkle of hundreds of fairy lights and Paul playing a Christmas song created a wonderful ambience. John sighed contentedly, and leaned on the counter. The guitar playing ceased, and John could hear the chords start again, the progression this time being more hesitant and lacking the fluidity that Paul's own playing had.  
The lights, having been tested, were switched off not to be turned on again until the official opening ceremony in the city centre next week. The shop itself though was brightly lit, and Paul had been enthusiastically talking about decorating it. John had regarded him, and the idea, with some amusement.  
"It's just a shop, Macca" he'd said. He'd seen some of the enthusiasm diminish, and could have kicked himself. If Paul wanted to decorate the shop, why not? There must be some room in the budget for that, and Christ knows Paul had probably not had many opportunities to do such a thing.  
"Tell y' what .. I'll go round the market and see what I can pick up, eh?"  
Paul's face had brightened again. John felt a twist of guilt. He really shouldn't be so quick to stamp on Paul's ideas .. he was supposed to be encouraging him in his independence.  
"Red and green" Paul had said.  
John frowned. Had he asked a question? Paul was beaming. "Red and green .. they're Christmas colours. My mum .." he stopped, suddenly, and chewed his lip.   
John leapt in quickly. "Okay. Red and green it is. Apart from the colours, let me know what kinds of things you want."  
So now here was John emptying the till of a few pounds, authorised by, to John's amazement, an equally enthusiastic Rob.  
"Decorate the shop? What a brill idea. Why have we never done that before?"  
So it looked like he, John, was going to spend tomorrow lunch time scouring the market for baubles and tinsel while Paul kept the shop. John shook his head. Between Rob and Paul he had been beaten into submission. 

The doorbell tinkled, and John looked up, drawn from his reverie. It was almost closing time, and he could hear Paul drawing the lesson to a close, explaining, in his thorough and precise way, exactly what he wanted his pupil to achieve for the next lesson. John put a smile on his face. After all, if he was going to have to tell a customer to politely speed up as they would be shutting soon, he'd best do it .....  
John's breath caught in his throat.  
He thought they'd covered every eventuality, but sometimes life just caught you on the hop.  
The guy, in his early forties, smiled brightly at John. John's heart sank. Oh Christ! Why here? Why now? Paul was in the back .. oh for God's sake, don't come out, just stay there, just ...  
"John. John, isn't it? D'you remember me? Mark. We met at Alice's Bar at the beginning of the year .. January was it, February? You were with Dean .. we chatted .."  
John's heart was pounding against his ribs. There was a roaring in his ears. The guy's smile faltered a little, although he bravely tried holding on to it.  
"Maybe you've forgotten me .. we talked about .."  
"Doctor Who and Star Trek, yeah, I know." John's voice sounded flat. Nasal. Inwardly he was panicking, and it suddenly struck him that this must be how Paul felt when faced with certain situations.  
Mark hesitated, unsure. He'd got on really well with John when they'd met.   
"You still wearing your ..." he waved his fingers round his neck to denote a scarf. It had been a talking point at their original introduction to one another, and Mark hoped it might restore John's memory.  
Behind him, John could hear Paul tying up the end of his session, hear the stool being moved, and footsteps heading into the shop from the small teaching room.  
'Go away .. for fuck sake go away' John thought.   
But Mark remained planted firmly in front of him the other side of the counter, a smile still on his face.  
John felt mean. Yes, he'd liked Mark, really liked him, the only nice guy in a bunch of perverts, but not now .. not when ..  
"I've been away" Mark was explaining "been working down south. Only came back last week. You were going out with Dean."  
"Not any more."  
Mark coloured, embarrassed. "Oh. Oh, right. Sorry. I didn't realise."  
"It's okay." John shifted off the counter, glancing pointedly at the clock.  
"We close at five, so ..."  
"John, we should be ..." Paul was beside him. He'd not heard the footsteps arrive. John closed his eyes. This isn't happening. Tell me this isn't happening.  
He heard Paul's voice falter.  
He saw Mark's smile falter.  
He saw Mark's eyes widen in surprise.  
"Paul?" He saw the connection flood Mark's face. "Paul .. it is, isn't it?"  
John didn't have to look at Paul to know what his expression would have been.  
"I knew you .. you were ..you were Luke Stanton's ..."  
"Not now" John's voice cut like a whip. "Paul works here .. he's my partner. My boyfriend." John added, making it clear. He slipped his arm around Paul's waist and tugged him tightly to his side.  
Colour flooded Mark's face. He stepped away from the counter.  
"I see. I'm sorry. A misunderstanding .. " Mark's eyes flicked to Paul. It seemed the next apology was directed at him alone "I'm sorry."  
John kept a tight arm around Paul's waist, not giving an inch.  
"S'okay .. you weren't to know" John dismissed him quickly. "We need to lock up now, so ..."  
Mark nodded, his face still a bright red. "Yes ... yes, of course. I, er ..sorry .. goodbye."  
He'd gone.  
John drew a deep breath and turned to Paul whom he was still holding. Their eyes met. Paul's were questioning.  
"How do you know him?" Paul's voice was icily, scarily, cold. John could feel the chill.  
No sense in beating about the bush. "A boyfriend. Before you .. Dean."  
John saw Paul's eyes momentarily flicker closed. The wheels were churning.  
"He was a friend of Luke's."  
"I know."  
"And Dean was."  
"Yeah, I know."  
There was silence for a moment.  
"How much do you know?"  
John shrugged. "Only what you've told me, love."  
He felt Paul droop beside him. The next words were whispered. "Then you know fucking nothing."

"I couldn't believe it, Ritchie. Of everyone .."  
"Has it not occurred to you that this could happen?"  
John gaped. Yeah, no, no .. no, not really .. Liverpool's a big city ...  
As if reading his thoughts, Ritchie said "Liverpool's not that big a city, after all. Y' gonna brush up against someone sooner or later that .. that .. that .." Ritchie struggled for the words. There was no nice way of putting it.  
"That screwed Paul." John finished for him.  
Ritchie blushed. "Yeah."  
There was a silence.  
John was recalling the journey home on the bus. Paul hadn't spoken to him. Hadn't acknowledged anyone or anything. Had come home and disappeared straight up to their room. John wanted to say something, but he didn't know what. What he could say? What would restore Paul's dignity?   
And he'd sensed that closure.  
He hated that.   
When Paul shut himself off. His face an impassive mask. Cold.   
"What's he doing now?" Ritchie broke the silence.  
John shrugged. "Dunno. Went up to our room."  
Alarm bells rang! John jumped swiftly to his feet. "Shit .. I'd better .. "  
He fled up the stairs, his heart in his mouth. He almost fell into their bedroom.  
Paul looked up, startled, from where he sat cross-legged on the bed, and John could have wept with relief.   
"Are .. are you okay?" John was gasping for breath.  
Paul just nodded. He still looked pale, and the light had gone out of his eyes.  
John sat by him, and pulled the resisting figure into his arms. It was like hugging an ice maiden.  
John murmured into the top of Paul's head. "It doesn't matter. Come on, Paulie, put it behind you. The guy didn't know you worked there."  
Paul's fingers slipped around John's waist, and he could feel the warmth of Paul's breath on the skin through his shirt. Gently he traced the contours of Paul's face, stroking down his neck, down his arms, under the shirt he wore, the ticklish ribs, and he felt Paul squirm.  
"I love you" he whispered gently into the soft dark hair. He felt Paul's arms tighten around his waist.  
He sought Paul's face, tracing down the cheeks, pausing at his mouth, and he lowered his lips to Paul's, joining them in a hungry and desperate kiss. He began to pepper Paul's face with tiny kisses, breathing in the scent of him, chasing him, demanding. Slowly he felt Paul respond, and as he slipped his fingers under Paul's waistband he heard Paul moan hungrily. Gently he lay Paul back, pausing just long enough to note the darkened lust filled eyes, checking he was okay with this. Slowly John unbuttoned Paul's shirt, adding small kisses to the exposed torso, then carefully undid his trousers, peeling them off long white legs. John threw his own clothes off with very little care or thought, just longing to be inside Paul, to get as close to him as he possibly could. To his relief Paul responded just as eagerly, their love making swift and urgent. It seemed they were both repelling their demons that evening.  
Catching their breath, they lay in each other's arms. Paul was running his fingers up and down John's arm, watching the hairs spring in different directions, his eyes distant. John watched him for a while, then captured his fingers, kissing the tips. Paul looked up, startled, jerked out of his reverie.  
"It doesn't matter, y'know, to me .. what went on before," he clarified.   
He watched a shadow cross Paul's face.  
"I told you that a long time ago, when you .. you told me."  
Paul remained silent.  
John fiddled with the strands of Paul's hair, seeking the right words.  
"If there's ... there's anything else y' wanna tell me ..."  
He felt Paul shiver.  
"Or not, as the case may be .. I'm okay with that. Just want you to know that, Paul, that's all .. whatever helps you."  
Paul raised his eyes to John's face. John felt he was being scrutinised. He stayed still, giving Paul time to think.  
"Thank you."  
John started. That was not what he had expected.   
He frowned, "Pardon?"  
A smile touched the corners of Paul's mouth. "I said .. thank you."  
John gave him a squeeze. "S'okay, love, anytime."

It was a hand written envelope shoved through the door of the shop a few days later, addressed simply to 'John'. John picked it up with the other post, his brow furrowed. Paul had headed straight into the music room and was playing the piano, a beautiful lilting melody in 6/8 time. A box holding all the decorations John could find in red and green was sat up a corner waiting for Paul to use. John plonked the other mail down and ran his thumb under a corner of the envelope, extracting a single sheet of A4 paper which he unfolded. His eyes swiftly scanned the hand written letter .. well, note. It was just a few lines.  
'Dear John, my sincere apologies for the other evening. I hope I did not cause any upset. As I explained I have been working away. Only yesterday did I catch up via a mutual friend the news about Luke and everything that had gone on. Paul was a lovely boy. It was all a very nasty business. At least one of us should have had the guts to try and prevent such a thing happening. I hope he is able to put it all behind him and move on. I wish you both well. Best wishes, Mark.'  
John stood there, the note held between his fingers, the music drifting through the shop, his mind miles away.   
It was on headed paper.  
With a mobile number.  
Here was someone who could tell John what had gone on.  
Who'd been there.  
He hesitated, then shook his head.  
It would be a betrayal of Paul's trust.  
John screwed the letter up.  
He aimed for the bin, but somehow found his fingers had placed it into his pocket.  
Why?  
The music stopped and Paul was there, at his side, pointing to the decorations.  
No. He couldn't do that. Not ask someone else what had gone on.  
But, maybe, just in case, if he ever needed to .. maybe ..


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little bit of fluff on the run up to Christmas

John leaned on the counter, chewing on the end of a pencil. A bad habit, his dentist had told him, but since he had quit smoking he found it helped. Not that he'd smoked for very long anyway, but all the same it had been a difficult habit to break. He was miles away, watching the Christmas shoppers laden with bags going up and down the street outside, some of them stopping to stare in the window of the record shop. Behind him he could hear Paul humming a tune. Occasionally Paul would drop to the harmony part and then switch back to the melody. John smiled to himself. The guy would be a one man band if he could. He turned to see what Paul was up to and found he was tidying their pile of 45's that were on special offer, organising them alphabetically.  
"Waste of time, that, y'know. People just mess 'em up again when they're sorting through."  
Paul paused, his fingers poised over the box, and glanced at John. "Just thought it might help."  
John waved his hand. "Whatever .. if you wanna do that."  
Paul considered John's words then, after a shrug, carried on sorting .. just as John knew he would.  
"What time's your appointment tomorrow?"  
Paul glanced over at him. "Ten. I thought you knew?"  
"Hmm. Just checking. I've got a lot on me mind."  
Paul halted, astonished .. and curious. "A lot on your mind?"  
John wiggled his eyebrows. "Yeah .. you. You're a lot."  
Paul chuckled, and went back to his sorting. "I'm a lot? Why am I a lot?"  
"Told you before, son, you're a problem. Trouble, you are."  
Paul glanced suspiciously at John from under his lashes, not sure how to take that comment.  
The bell tinkled and a group of teenagers piled in through the door, all woolly hats and smiles, their cheeks flushed red from the cold wind that was blowing off the harbour, straight across from the Irish sea, bringing with it stinging icicles of rain.  
John stood up straight. "Mornin'. Want any help, just ask."  
They nodded and dispersed to various shelves to hunt through. A pretty girl wearing a pink bobble hat smiled openly at Paul. John watched amused at how Paul's eyes widened nervously, not sure how to handle young women who found him attractive. Giving Paul a second or two to stew, John stepped in.  
"Can I help you, love? Anything in particular you're looking for?"  
Flustered she peeled her eyes away from the guy that had caught her attention. She waved a sparkly mitten clad hand.  
"Oh, no, just lookin', ta."  
John winked slowly at Paul, who hid his face back in the 45's.  
"Oh wow .. they've got Jimi Hendrix .. look! Oh man, I'll have to take this." The enthusiastic young lad turned to John. "Is this okay? I mean .. it's condition? Is it good?"  
"As good as any y' can get second-hand, son. We pride ourselves in obtaining good quality records." John responded.  
Paul could feel the girls eyes still on him. He kept his head lowered, hearing John complete the sale.  
Someone asked about guitar lessons, and John waved his hand in Paul's direction. "That's our maestro over there .. think he's fully booked unless y' can come in the day."  
Paul glanced up, meeting the eyes of a lad of about eighteen who was gazing at him with an air of awe. Paul gave a polite nod.  
"Y' teach a friend of mine .. Josh .. he says you're really good, that you can play anything."  
John leaned on the counter, a smile playing around his lips as he watched Paul's embarrassment. He decided he'd heap it on a bit.  
"Oh, he can" John added, and saw Paul flash him a swift venomous glare, knowing full well what John was doing.  
"Would y' teach me?" The young guy was not to be diverted. His eyes were glued on Paul to the exclusion of everyone else. "If I can come in the day? I'm starting college in September .. I know it's ages off yet but can I go on your waiting list? Please?"  
Paul glanced at John, who stood watching the scenario with that smile still hovering around his lips. Well he wasn't going to be any help.  
Paul left the box of singles he was trying to tidy and came over to the counter, feeling all eyes on him. Sometimes, when that happened, when he was the centre of attention, he could feel a rising tide of panic inside of him, but he pushed it down, trying to be professional.  
"Yes, of course. I'll take your details and just contact me when you get your timetable and we'll work round it." Paul picked up the pad and pen that lived by the cash register.  
"Do you think" the teenager was going to be persistent " is there any chance, if you had a cancellation or something, I could come? And maybe have a few lessons in the holidays? I'd really practice."  
Paul looked up, meeting his eyes, hearing the urgency, and remembered when he'd been desperate to learn. He smiled, and nodded.  
"Sure .. not a problem. I'll contact you."  
John watched with satisfaction Paul complete his transaction, noting that the young girl who had first clapped eyes on Paul was still gazing at him with a mixture of awe and admiration. Sorry, love, he's mine, John thought to himself. 

John pushed a coffee in Paul's direction, adding a couple of digestive biscuits.  
"You could have scored there, son."  
"Hmm?" Paul glanced up, miles away.  
"That girl."  
"Oh .. aye."  
"You need a put off line."  
"A what?"  
"Summat to give 'em the message."  
"What?"  
"Well, it's gonna keep happening, innit, otherwise. I mean, you're eye candy, aren't ya?"  
Paul snorted "Depends which way you bat, dear."  
John gave a fond smile. "Don't think so Macca. I reckon you appeal both ways."  
Paul fell silent. John watched him covertly for a moment. He was never sure if Paul was aware of his attractiveness or not. Paul wasn't vain, that was certain. He was faster through a bathroom in a morning than John, he seemed to throw his clothes on without too much thought, anxious to get on with his life and not stand fannying around, yet somehow he wore his sexuality like a cloak and all eyes were drawn to him. John thought bitterly to himself that that was what Luke Stanton had probably seen in him, and taken advantage of.  
John started when he realised Paul was talking.  
"...cleared it so we need to leave by nine."  
Oh, yes .. Paul's final appointment at the hospital tomorrow. The probation officer was aware of the change of routine and plans, Rob was managing the shop for the day and he, John, was going with Paul. If all was well, Paul would be discharged. He felt Paul's eyes upon him.  
"Yup, that's fine. We'd better have a good breakfast .. y'know how long the wait can be in some of the departments." John added.  
"Uh huh. Is that okay, though?"  
John rewound quickly .. what had Paul been saying before? He winced.  
"Sorry, son .. I probably wasn't really listening."  
John couldn't help but notice Paul's triumphant smile. The little bugger had known John had switched off from him wittering on. Christ, Paul could talk when he got the bit between his teeth.  
"I'd said I wanted time to go and see Trevor and some of the other staff .. they know I'm gonna be there tomorrow. You weren't listening to me were you, Johnny?"  
Johnny. John loved it when Paul called him that. No one else did. He reached across the table and grasped Paul's hand, startling him as he gave the fingers an affectionate squeeze.  
"For you, love, anything."

John was right. It was a journey through the hospital from one department to another with long waits in between. A blood test .. John sat and read his way through magazines he'd never normally consider.  
"Amateur gardening?" enquired Paul with a quizzical smile, arriving in front of John having finally been seen, a plaster on his left forearm denoting the area of the blood test.  
John thankfully put the magazine down.  
"All done?" he asked Paul, nodding at the plaster. Paul tugged his shirt sleeve down over it, and nodded.  
"All okay?"  
Paul shrugged. "Dunno. They just take it then it goes off to the lab. They said the results will be with us before I've finished here."  
John glanced round the crowded room, at the people with bored faces, the children who were fed-up and running squealing circles around their frustrated parents. The joys of the N.H.S.  
"Where to next?"  
Paul fumbled with a bit of paper, his left arm slightly stiff and the plaster tugging. "Erm .. this one. A urine sample." He looked at John with worried eyes. "I've gotta provide a urine sample."  
"Well, what's wrong with that?"  
Paul coloured. "I don't wanna pee."  
John steered him out of the clinic by his elbow "Soon sort that .. let's go have a cup of tea."  
They found the W.R.V.S. and procured two large mugs of tea .. and a KitKat for Paul, who sat there munching his way through it as if he was just having the best day of his life. The thought brought John up sharply. If he considered it, Paul didn't go anywhere except work and home. The whole tagging thing and curfew didn't give any options. Watching Paul eat, watching his big eyes gaze around the small hospital cafe taking everything in, John had an idea. And the idea began to grow. He buried it deep in his thoughts, and indicated Paul's empty mug.  
"D'you wanna pee yet?"  
Paul's eyes flittered across to meet John's, and he shook his head.  
"Well .. d'you want another or shall we just head over to the department assuming by the time we get seen to you'll be absolutely bursting?"  
Licking the chocolate off his fingers, Paul nodded.  
It took them at least ten minutes to locate the department.  
By which time Paul was beginning to want the loo.  
By the time his number was called, he almost had his legs crossed.  
John sat back and thumbed his way through yet another magazine that didn't interest him .. I mean .. 'Farming Today'? ... were there farmers in Liverpool? .. and it was two .. no, scrap that, three years out of date.  
"I'm done."  
John lowered the magazine and looked at Paul who was standing in front of him, his cheeks rosy and flushed, looking extremely relieved.  
"You made it okay then? Without wetting yourself, I mean?"  
Paul batted him.  
"So" John carefully folded the magazine, placing it back on the table for the next poor bugger who had a .. John glanced at the clock .. forty five minute wait. "Where to next?"  
"X-ray."  
"X-ray? Oh ho. Off we go then. Does that mean you've gotta get undressed?"  
Paul considered the question. "Mmm .. probably."  
"Need some help?"  
"John!!"

Really these identical blue plastic chairs were not at all comfortable.  
Paul had been removed from John's side quite swiftly and taken into the depths of the X-ray department. John twiddled his thumbs. The magazines were just getting worse. No mobile phones allowed ... notices saying 'Please switch off your mobile phone' were on every wall .. not that you could get a signal in the hospital anyway. John began to develop his idea. If he could contact Steve? Get some time for Paul? They'd adhered to the conditions of Paul's sentencing, that John knew. The probation department had no quarrels with them. Where could he take Paul? John gazed around the pale green painted walls with their posters on how to do C.P.R. and how to wash your hands properly and do you want to have a chaperone when you go to see the doctor, and if you need an ambulance service .. his eyes drooped. It was warm in the hospital, and there was always a murmur of conversation and the tannoy system sounding, and ...  
"John?"  
John started to see Paul sitting by him.  
"Oh .. fuckin' hell, must have dropped off. You all done?"  
"Sort of .. well, not, not really" John's heart had leapt and then sank again. Paul had noted the reaction, and smiled.  
"I have to go and see the doctor that was over me when I was in here an' I can't do that till they've analysed the blood and urine samples and developed the X-ray, but we could go and see Trevor and Ritchie .. and maybe get lunch? It's nearly two o'clock an' I'm starving."  
John jumped to his feet .. Christ, it would be good to move. It was so soporific in these places.  
"Good idea. I'm starved too. Where do we go?"  
"Well, we can't go to the canteen anymore 'cos I'm no longer hospital staff, but there's a cafe at the entrance to out-patients. It does like jacket potatoes an' that .. it's called Spuds U'Like."  
"What if I don't like spuds?"  
"You do!! It'll be okay. I'm hungry. Shall we go there?"  
"Well, we'll have to. We can't go out of the building, can we?"  
Paul glanced down, momentarily reminded of the tag he'd learned to live with.  
John squeezed his arm. "Come on, jacket potatoes, cheese n' beans, eh?"  
Paul raised his eyes to John's face, and in their depths John could read Paul's love for him.  
John's breath caught in his throat. 

Watching Paul devour a plate of jacket potatoes covered with cheese and beans as if he'd not eaten for at least a week, John smiled thoughtfully to himself. It was difficult to recall his life before Paul. He'd certainly been an angry young man. Some people would probably say he still was. He didn't think he was anymore though. Oh sure he could be cynical. And sarcastic. And cutting. But angry? He watched Paul sawing through his potato as if his life depended on it. No, he wasn't angry. Other than at the man who'd fucked up Paul's life, but he was dead now so there was no use being angry at him. He'd been angry when Andrew had walked out on him. The original love of his life. But had he been the original love of his life? Maybe he, John, had thought Andrew had been, but he hardly ever thought of him now. Not now he had Paul. And Paul stirred emotions in John that he didn't even know he had. Funny, really, considering how they'd started off. How wrong that could all have gone. John sighed and leaned his head on his hands, suddenly aware of how much Paul meant to him.  
Hearing the sigh, Paul paused and glanced up, knife and fork poised above his plate. A frown creased his brow.  
"Are you okay?"  
John could read worry in those dark eyes. He smiled reassuringly.  
"Yeah, I'm fine."  
"'Cos, y'know, if you're getting bored..?"  
John leaned forward and wiped a smear of brown sauce off Paul's chin, and Paul ducked his head, embarrassed.  
"I could never be bored when I'm with you."  
Fucking hell!! Where had that come from? John winced at the sugary sweetness of the comment, and Paul too looked astonished.  
Them, simultaneously, they both burst out laughing.

"All seems clear, Paul. How are you feeling?"  
Paul faced the doctor that had performed the initial surgery.  
"I'm good, thanks. Feel fine."  
The doctor nodded. "Good. That's good. You know that you'll never be able to lift any heavy weights or do anything that places strain around that area, don't you?"  
Paul nodded.  
"Think ... before you do anything, just think. In that case I'm happy to discharge you. I'd like to see you back here, just for a quick visit, in six months, to make sure everything is still okay. In the meantime, if you do have any problems, any unexpected pain or anything that is not normal, come straight back."  
The doctor smiled at Paul.  
"Do you know how lucky you've been?"  
Paul glanced up, startled.  
"We were all holding our breaths through that surgery. There is nothing more satisfying to me than to see you sitting here now." The doctor smiled warmly." Okay. Take this note to the desk, make an appointment for six months time .. early June .. and, above all, take care of yourself."

Paul slipped his fingers inside the pocket of John's coat as they made their way home in the dark evening. He couldn't remember the last time he'd felt this content. It had been lovely visiting everyone again, catching up with Trevor and Doris the tea lady and Howard, and Greg on security who always joked about the time Paul set about the two guys who'd tried to abduct him. They'd popped their heads round the door to say goodbye to Ritchie who they would see later anyway, and now they were making their way home. Home. Paul savoured the words on his lips. His fingers twined with John's inside the pocket, the action hidden to other passers-by. A little smile flitted dreamily around Paul's mouth and he unthinkingly laid his head on John's shoulder. John was taken by a sudden perfume of coconut from Paul's hair, and the warmth and weight of his head. He squeezed the fingers that were inside his pocket.  
"You okay?" he whispered quietly.  
"Mm hmm."

Steve looked up in surprise when John entered the room. His first thought was that there was a problem.  
"No, no, everything is fine. I just wondered .."  
John sat down on the plastic chair, drawing it up under his legs.  
"I was at the hospital the other day with Paul ..."  
"Oh, yes, of course. How did he get on?" Steve interrupted.  
John blinked, startled for a moment. "Oh, fine, yeah. He's been discharged."  
Steve nodded. The paperwork should be coming through soon then. He turned his attention back to John.  
"...and it occurred to me that Paul hasn't been anywhere other than work and home .. it was like such a big deal for him going to the hospital .."  
"Well, John, he is serving a sentence. It's not supposed to be fun."  
John paused, twiddling his thumbs. "It's just .. I wondered .. you said he could ask , so ... I wondered if I could ask instead. He doesn't know I'm here, he's minding the shop. Thinks I've gone to do a delivery."  
"What did you want to ask John?"  
"Can I have permission to take him out somewhere .. please?"  
Steve hid a smile at the sight of a somewhat threatening wannabe teddy boy asking so politely. At the end of the day this was serious business.  
"Where do you want to go?"  
Shit! John hadn't really thought. Steve saw the lurch. He leaned back in his chair to explain.  
"Wherever you go it has to be run like a military operation. I would need exact timings which you HAVE to stick to, where you are going to be, and when. The curfew would have to remain, and you can't just be walking the streets. You need to be in one place." Steve paused, and looked closely at John. "Do you understand?"  
John nodded, his mind working. Where could they go that would be in one place?  
"What did you have in mind?" Steve prompted. John shrugged.  
"I'd thought it would be nice to go round the dock area and see the Christmas lights and stalls and .. "  
Steve was already shaking his head. "Sorry. Too vague. Outdoors. Outside. Crowds. No go, I'm afraid. Now if you were inside ..."  
An idea struck John. "Like in a department store?"  
Steve winced. "Not ideal, but possible."  
"Like John Lewis? Where they have the Christmas department and everything and we could have dinner? Would that be acceptable?"  
Steve nodded. "Okay. Okay, I will give my permission for that BUT I need to know what time you are heading in, even to the bus number, your route, how long you expect to be there, and your planned journey home. Understood?"  
John nodded enthusiastically.  
"And, also, obviously, when."  
"Sunday. We could go on Sunday. The shop's open on other days but that's our day off."  
John leapt to his feet as if he could go there and then. Steve hid a smile at his enthusiasm. He too stood up.  
"Okay. You have my mobile. I want a text stating exact times and I will expect you to adhere to them. The tracking department will be issued with the details and will follow your route throughout the day. Is that understood? A delay because of a bus hold up, traffic, etcetera is understandable, but don't push your luck."  
"No, I understand. I won't. And .. thanks."

Paul picked up his guitar and took himself to the little parlour at the front of the house. The room wasn't often used and had the chill feeling that went with an unlived in room. Paul perched himself on one of the ancient, uncomfortable, and overstuffed chairs and tuned his guitar. Through the net curtains he could watch people coming and going without being seen himself. One neighbour was obviously smuggling a bike into the house .. probably a Christmas present, Paul mused, judging by their covert actions. He began playing the song 'Winter's Tale', the sad minor key seeming to suit the normally vacant room. He went from humming it to singing, his voice clear and true, a wonderful resonance in the high ceilinged room. From out of the window he could see another family setting out, children swathed in scarves, looking excited, chattering away to their parents. He could remember being taken to the big department stores to visit Santa Claus, and how nervous he'd been when it came to his turn. He could never think what to ask for when he entered the grotto. And his mam's voice 'what would be your biggest wish if you could have anything' ... He could hear her so clearly it was as if she was beside him. His fingers stopped playing, and he turned, expecting to see her. The inanimate pottery in the china cabinet sat immobile, mocking his imagination. He thought he'd forgotten the sound of her voice. The nuance as she spoke. A slight Irish accent lingering. He chewed on his bottom lip, silent for a moment. The smell of bacon and sausage drifted down the little hallway. Ritchie would be cooking a Sunday breakfast .. he always did if he wasn't on duty. Paul mused over the fact that both George and Ritchie enjoyed cooking, albeit completely different types of food. He'd lived on rice and Indian dishes at George's then traditional English ones here at Ritchie's. His sharp ears caught the murmur of a lighter female voice. It sounded as if Lottie had stayed over the night. She was a lovely girl ... smiling and cheerful, homely, with a sweet compassionate nature. Paul could feel at ease with her. She'd been one of his nurses when he was in the Men's Ward. She'd also been Ritchie's nurse too for the few days he'd been in after the attack. Paul's fingers slipped across the strings, executing a series of descending minor chords. Another burst of chattering outside caught his ears, and he looked up to see another family leaving their house, children wrapped in bobble hats and gloves, youngest muffled up into a push chair against the cold winter's day.  
"Dreaming?" John's voice cut through his drifting thoughts.  
Paul looked up and smiled, then frowned. John was dressed already .. but .. he'd been asleep still when Paul had got up.  
"You were quick."  
John gave a mysterious smile. "Oh yeah, I've got plans for today."  
John saw Paul's expressive face drop. He obviously didn't think the plans included him.  
"Come on, Macca, get washed and dressed. Ritchie's cooking breakfast, in case you haven't noticed." John was in motivation mode.  
Paul uncurled his legs reluctantly. He'd simply grabbed one of John's woolly jumpers to put on when he first got up and had only his boxers on .. an incongruous mix for a chilly morning. He'd expected to spend the day with John .. their day off, Sunday. Then again, he chided himself, John has you all the time .. maybe he wants some time to himself. Wouldn't blame him. After all, why should he want to spend all his spare time with you? Paul pushed down the disappointment he felt.  
"Where are you going?" he asked politely, trying not to let his disappointment show.  
John saw the droop of Paul's shoulders. He knew full well what Paul was thinking. Disregarding the guitar that Paul was still clutching he swept Paul onto his feet, crushing him into a bear hug.  
"Where are WE going, you mean?"  
A spark of hope flamed in Paul's eyes, and he looked questioningly at John, his eyes that amazing mixture of browns and greens and golds reflecting the light that was coming through the windows.  
"We?"  
"Yeah, we. You an' me. Now go get dressed, let's have breakfast ... "  
John began pushing Paul out of the room in the direction of the stairs.  
"But .. but, John .. I'm not supposed ..."  
"Sorted!"  
"What? What's sorted? I have to ..."  
"Paul, for Christ sake stop talking, go and get some clothes and get washed and dressed. Breakfast'll be done in a few minutes."  
"But .. what? ..I mean, where ...?"  
John comedically thumped his head. "Oh Lord, give me strength. Just .. go .. will you? It's a surprise, okay? Never heard of surprises before?"  
Paul halted, a smile breaking out. "A surprise? "  
John pointed in the direction of the stairs. Paul got the hint.  
"Okay!" He fled up them, and John could hear his feet disappearing into their bedroom.

Well, it wasn't that Paul hadn't been on a bus before. After all they went to work on them all the time. But this time he was on one going into town, with all the decorations strung up around the city centre to catch his attention. John began to consider that taking out a two year old might have been easier. Paul had the window seat and was continually twisting and turning, craning his neck to see the lights that sparkled in the winter air.  
"John! John, did you see that? It looks like reindeer flying .. oh, wow, look, John .. can you see .. that's awesome, they look like stalactites shimmering .. oh gosh, look at the city hall .. John, look .. look at the sledge .. hey, there's a nativity scene .. it says the cathedral .. " .." which one? " John interjected ..."..the Anglican .. they're doing carols .. oh, by candlelight .. we could go and ..."  
It was a continuous running commentary all the way into the city centre. Across the aisle was a young mother with an equally enthusiastic five year old doing a very similar running commentary. They caught each other's eye across the bus aisle and smiled.  
"Wanna swap?" John asked. Her smile grew broader.  
"At least yours won't be requiring a toilet break at an inconvenient time" she countered with humour.  
John shook his head. "Wouldn't be too sure of that, love."

It was no easier in John Lewis. John headed Paul straight to the Christmas display section, and Paul was enthralled by the various Christmas scenes that had been created. John twiddled his fingers in his pockets why Paul examined every bauble and wreath he could find. Once John stopped to have a look at some Christmas books and when he turned round Paul had disappeared. John's heart lurched. Christ! He was responsible for him. He was supposed to be keeping him safe. Then John spotted a dark head squatting at the side of a pushchair in which sat a little girl. Paul and the child were both singing along to Jingle Bells, Paul putting in a harmony, while a trio of penguins (not real, obviously .. dressed up staff members) sang the song while handing out sparkly stickers.  
John drew alongside the older woman .. obviously a grandmother. He smiled at her and nodded in the direction of the pushchair.  
"Yours, I presume?"  
She nodded her head, and indicated Paul.  
"Yours, I presume?"  
They both burst out laughing.  
Without losing the beat or the harmony, Paul twisted from his position and threw a beaming smile at John. The little girl had clutched onto one of Paul's fingers and was gazing at him with adoring eyes, singing off key along with him.  
"He's very good with children" the woman confided to John. "She was in a mega tantrum when he happened along. He just started singing with her and she stopped."  
John nodded. "Oh aye he has that effect on most people."  
"I heard that, Lennon." Paul said, rising to his feet as the song drew to a close. The little girl waved a solemn bye bye to him.  
Later they sat together having dinner, gazing through the large windows at the streams of Christmas shoppers outside, the lights sparkling in the dark of a winter's afternoon. Paul tucked into his sausage and mash while John had opted to have a full-blown turkey meal with all the trimmings. They were surrounded by the chatter of a busy store, people carrying bags and boxes, their faces flushed, and the sound of carols playing through the sound system.  
John glanced at Paul who was still busy watching the shoppers.  
"Enjoy yourself?"  
Paul turned to him, his eyes sparkling. "Oh, brilliant, thanks. I've had a great time."  
"What? Just coming to John Lewis?"  
"Just the .. out .. just going out. Thanks, John." Paul leaned in and gave him a quick peck on his cheek. Startled, John did the usual glance around, making sure no one had seen.  
"You come cheap, you do, y'know. Bring you to a department store and you think I've given you the world! Honest, Macca, y' wanna up your game a bit."  
Paul smiled broadly at John. "It's been great .. just seeing things, y'know. Watching the kids an' that."  
"So .. do you wanna go to the grotto an' see Santa?"  
Paul punched him playfully on the arm. "No!! I'm not five any more, y'know."  
"Of course not, you must be .. let me see...at least six by now. So ... do you want another quick look around? Anywhere else in the store? We have to get the four thirty bus .. I did promise that, so ..."  
Paul ducked his head. "I don't mind. Is there anything you want to look at? "  
Paul's cheeks were rosy from the warmth of the store, his hair tousled. John drank in the sight of him. If it wasn't so corny he thought he'd reply with the line 'Only you, love'.  
"Let's go and have a look at the deli, eh? See if we can pick summat up for Christmas."  
The idea obviously appealed to Paul. They spent a happy hour just wandering the different aisles, ogling the selection of olives and cheeses, sampling some of the chocolates on offer and finally settled on purchasing a Christmas pudding.  
John had one eye on his watch. He was a little bit jumpy because he didn't want them to be delayed, particularly as so many shoppers thronged the streets. As they exited the store it was to the sound of a Salvation Army band playing carols. Paul's feet slowed as he was drawn in by the music, as John knew he would be. The air was chilling, a threat of frost hinted at. Their breaths came in puffs of white. In the gloom Paul slid his arm under John's, linking them together. People passed around them, and the warm timbre of the brass filled the air. John felt Paul press closer to him, feeling the weight and warmth of his body.  
It was a whisper in his ear, Paul's breath gusting gently.  
"I've had a lovely day. Thanks so much, Johnny."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A couple pf explanations .... W.R.V.S. stands for Women's Royal Voluntary Service and they run tea and coffee stalls in our N.H.S. hospitals .. when you have a long wait at out-patients they are a god send!  
> John Lewis is a large (expensive!) department store who do wonderful Christmas displays and sell fantastic deli food .. everything of an excellent quality ... including their dinners! Last time there I had the same as Paul .. their sausage and mash is to die for! They are just down from the dock area in the city centre of Liverpool and it's a new store with enormous windows that look over the shopping area.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Christmas preparations, and a sleep walking moment!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter involves a rather dramatic sleep walking episode which may be disturbing!

As Christmas became nearer secret activities began to take place.

Paul had taken to squirelling John's Christmas present away in his sock drawer, taking it out and looking at it, then hiding it amongst his shirts, then concerned John may accidentally come across it he hid it under the bed, then panicked that John might inadvertently discover it if he suddenly .. unlikely though it be .. decided to vacuum their room, so back it went in the sock drawer. It was a beautiful sketch book George had managed to procure for him, of the very best available, and not only did it have J.W. Lennon printed on it's cover, it also had J.W.L. embossed on the lower right hand corner of each page. Paul would take it out and smooth his fingers over the midnight blue cover, imagining John's surprise and delight, then next moment he would worry because it didn't seem very much to give someone .. what if he didn't like it? The other half of Paul's mind would argue that of COURSE John would like it .. a few minutes later the whole scenario would begin again.

John took a much more pragmatic approach. He had purchased the mobile phone for Paul and had asked Ritchie to keep it for him out of sight. There really was no- where in their own bedroom that John could have hidden it without Paul stumbling upon it when tidying up .. which he did with disturbing frequency as John found his clean socks .. ALL of them .. had been shoved into the washer again because he, John, had left them on the floor while he thought about putting them away. John knew a guy who came into the shop who was an absolute wizard with mobiles and who promised to have it all set up ready for Paul to use. As John was not very savvy with anything technical he was highly relieved.

Ritchie .. after all it was his house .. managed to commandeer the best hiding places. Buying something for Lottie had been the most difficult, but his mam had assisted there. He had a very pretty necklace with a star pendant stashed away for her. For John he'd managed to acquire a knitted woolly hat to go with his others, and a matching scarf, all in red and green because they, Paul always said emphatically, were Christmas colours. For Paul he'd bought a book all about music of the late fifties and early sixties chronicling the rise of rock and roll.

And they were going to have a party.

Ritchie had never thrown one before. Ever. Despite it being his own house. He'd always been too busy and then there'd been John. When he first took John in as a lodger he'd been extremely unsettled. There was no way he could ever have invited anyone over. But the advent of Paul in John's life had changed all that, and he was looking forward to organising his very first Christmas party. To be held on Boxing Day. Starting at lunchtime so that older people who wanted to go home early could, but planned to go into the early hours of the morning. Lottie would be coming, George too, of course, and other friends from the hospital, including Trevor and his family. How they'd all fit in his little Victorian terrace house Ritchie didn't know, but it was an exciting problem to have. And with this in mind he'd carefully been purchasing a few bottles of alcohol .. wine, gin, rum, whisky .. as well as the inevitable cans of beer .. and stashing them away in a cupboard in the kitchen. It was the least used cupboard, to the right of the sink upon the wall, and Ritchie had cleared out the few old and rarely used porcelain bowls to make room for it all. Each evening he'd check the contents gleefully, and scour his mind for anything he might have forgotten to provide. 

Hopefully it was going to be a much better Christmas than the last one.  
No matter how hard Ritchie tried he could never rid himself of the disturbing scenario of a year ago.  
Neither, he knew, could George.  
He glanced into the parlour where Paul and John were cuddled up together on the settee watching a film. They were both engrossed in whatever it was they were watching.  
Their fingers were entwined, eyes glued on the television set. Dark head resting against auburn head. They looked as if they belonged together. Ritchie smiled softly to himself. Well, they did. He'd always known that from the moment he first clapped eyes on Paul.

It had been a busy couple of weeks at the record shop. Vinyl seemed to suddenly be all the rage again. They'd been busy from opening until closing time. Paul had barely had chance to keep their books up to date, so much so that one evening he had taken all the paperwork home to do. He suffered good naturedly John's incessant teasing about him just being OCD all the time. He knew, within himself, he could rest more easily if he had everything up to date and organised. 

The weather was mild .. unseasonably mild .. the kind that brought germs and snuffles and Ritchie went down with a cold. Paul insisted on dosing him with orange juice and vitamin C tablets.   
"Who died and left you nurse?" John quipped, then could have kicked himself when he saw a shadow flit over Paul's face.  
Fortunately Ritchie's cold didn't develop into anything worse, and even more fortunately, considering they were living in close proximity, Paul and John didn't catch it.

"A tree?" John looked at Paul open-mouthed. "You want a tree?"  
Paul nodded. "I can give you the money for one .. you can get them from the market for about thirty pounds. I just can't .. go and get one meself."  
John swivelled his glance to an amused Ritchie. "He wants a fuckin' tree now. Tell y', Ritch, next minute he'll want me dressing up as Santa and comin' down your bleedin' chimney."  
Paul's eyes lit up. "Oh, now that's an idea .. "  
"No way, son. No fucking way. You hear me? Only if you dress up as a fairy and let me chase you."

The weather turned cold. Frost silvered the roofs of the houses. People muffled up in scarves and hats, stamping their feet to keep warm. Five more days and it was Christmas.  
John and Paul collapsed tiredly into bed. They'd been run off their feet all day. Soon they'd have a few days off. Time to relax. Paul was, as usual, first asleep, turning onto his side and slinging his arm across John's chest. John heard Paul's breathing slow down, steady and even. For a few moments longer John lay awake, his arms behind his head, gazing at the ceiling, or what he could see of it in the darkness, aware of the weight and warmth of Paul's arm resting across him, then drowsiness overtook him and he, too, drifted off.

John had no idea what woke him.  
All his senses were on alert.  
He felt he was straining to hear.  
What? Hear what?  
Half of his mind was still in slumber land but swiftly being drawn into action.  
It was quiet. So quiet you could hear a feather drop.   
John found he was holding his breath. Waiting.   
There!! There it was again. A sound of glass breaking. Shattering.  
John sat up swiftly, alarmed. Burglars?  
He turned to rouse Paul.  
Paul wasn't there.  
A dent on the mattress where he'd been.  
He'd gone.

John was out of bed and down the stairs so quickly he had no remembrance of grabbing his dressing-gown. Barefoot he took the stairs two at a time, familiar with every bend and cranny in the darkness. Through the dark hallway into the equally dark parlour, following the trail of left open doors.  
It was like a scene from a horror film. John stopped, unable to immediately absorb what was happening.  
Paul stood facing the sink, naked in the darkness, his body silvered by the moonlight coming in through the small window, his hair and eyes seeming black in comparison.  
On hearing footsteps he turned his head slowly and looked at John.  
Never would John forget the chill that shot through him.  
Paul's eyes were blank. Empty. They fixed onto John's face, unblinking.  
John drew a sharp breath. The air was dense with the smell of alcohol. You could have become inebriated just breathing.  
And then John realised the source of the sound of breaking glass.   
Paul was surrounded by the broken shards of bottles, the floor swimming in a vivid mix of colours that had splattered up the cupboard doors, up Paul's legs, and was dripping from his fingers.  
It was a fucking nightmare.  
John was frozen in horror, unable to move from his place in the doorway.  
Never taking his unblinking eyes off John's face, Paul systematically reached into the cupboard to the right of the sink, at chest height with him, and without looking selected another bottle. It was all done in slow motion. He lifted it out, extended his arm to the side, and released it from his fingers.   
It fell to the floor in a shattering of glass and liquid.  
In all this Paul's eyes had never left John's face.  
John saw Paul's hand reach into the cupboard again, and he moved.  
"No! No, Paul, don't!"  
There was the tiniest hesitation before the arm continued it's journey.  
John tried to get to him but found he was stepping, barefoot, onto broken glass.   
Paul had effectively surrounded himself with an impenetrable moat.  
"Fuck! Fuck, fuck, fuck." John danced backwards, searching for some way of making a pathway to Paul.  
He backed into Ritchie who was standing, wide-eyed in dismay, at the scene that faced him. It was like something from Dante's Inferno.  
"What .. what ..?"  
Another bottle shattered, and at the sound of a different voice Paul's eyes swivelled to observe Ritchie's face.  
Still he never blinked.  
"Broom .. give me the broom before he breaks any more."  
Ritchie fled to the closet to find a broom.  
John turned his attention back to Paul, who was watching him from those scarily blank eyes as if waiting for a command.  
"Paul .. Paul, love, don't .. don't do that." He reached out an appealing hand but couldn't reach the stationary figure across the debris.  
Paul tilted his head slightly, considering.  
John felt the broom thrust into his hands. He swiftly began clearing a pathway, aware of the gritty feeling of tiny pieces of glass beneath his feet, wincing at the feeling, sweeping away liquid and broken shards, desperate to reach the isolated figure.  
He'd almost made it as Paul reached into the cupboard again and with infuriating deliberation dropped yet another bottle onto the tiled floor. John felt the liquid splash up his own legs.  
"Paul, no .. no more, okay?" John was gabbling now, treading on broken glass he didn't have time to shift as he tried to get to Paul before any more damage was caused.  
Finally he was at Paul's side and he captured his hands gently. Paul's eyes were locked on him questioningly.  
"What are y' doing, y' daft lad. Eh? Look at y' fingers."   
John wasn't sure if the tips of Paul's fingers were coated with blood or wine but they were dripping ominously.   
John began running the cold tap, and forced Paul's fingers under the steady stream of water.   
Even as he swilled them off, concentrating on trying to see if there was any glass in the cuts, he could feel Paul's eyes still on him.  
And still Paul hadn't blinked.  
This was fucking scary.  
John held Paul's fingers still, trying to check them. Then he was aware he couldn't see very well.   
Why the fuck couldn't he see?  
He sniffed, struggled for breath, then became aware that tears were streaming down his face, blurring his vision.  
He'd never been so scared in his life.  
This wasn't something he could cope with.  
A sob tore from his chest.  
Then he heard Ritchie's voice.   
He turned his head to him.  
Paul turned his head to him.  
"Has he cut his fingers?"  
John struggled to get words out. He was panicking. "I .. I dunno. I .. oh Christ, Ritchie, ..what's wrong?"  
As if sensing John's distress Paul's gaze switched back, observing.  
Ritchie tried to ignore the rising tide of panic.   
"I'll .. I'll get a throw off the settee .. he must be freezing." Something practical. Do something.  
Ritchie darted into the parlour, flicking on the light switch as he did so.  
The sudden illumination, despite showing the extent of the havoc Paul had managed to wreak, dispelled some of the horror.  
Ritchie passed John the woollen throw, and John slung it around Paul's naked body.  
"I've got some plasters .. and that .. shall we check his fingers? Bring him in here." Ritchie indicated the parlour with it's comforting light.  
John drew a shuddering breath, and tried to move Paul.  
He tugged him towards the door. "Come on .. come on, Paul, you'll be okay."  
Paul was firmly glued to the spot. He tilted his head again, questioningly, but didn't move. He was completely rigid.  
John looked despairingly at Ritchie, shaking his head.  
"What do I do?"  
"Can y' pick him up?"  
"I dunno .. it's not .. he won't bend .. I dunno if I can."  
John tried another tug. Paul remained firmly rooted to the spot.  
Never had John felt so helpless. He could have sat down and cried. The whole situation was too overwhelming.  
Ritchie moved to his side.  
"Can I help? If we both take an arm?"  
Ritchie felt Paul's eyes fix on him.  
This would have made a good horror film, he thought to himself.  
He tugged and John tugged.   
The throw slithered off Paul's shoulders into a heap amongst the broken glass and drenched floor.   
Unable to resist a double pronged attack Paul lurched forward suddenly, and John caught him before he hit the floor.   
Ritchie grabbed his legs, and together they got him onto the settee.  
Paul heaved a sigh, and his eyes fluttered closed, his body sinking into the cushions.  
John leant his head on his hands, aware of the fact he was trembling.   
Ritchie looked at him worriedly. "John, you okay?"  
No, he wasn't, not really. He'd faced many things in his life but this was just the scariest.  
It was as if Paul had been possessed.  
He became aware of Ritchie's hand on his arm.  
"John?"  
John covered Ritchie's hand with his own trembling one. He drew a deep breath.  
"What the fuck was all that about?"  
Ritchie's brow was furrowed. "I think he was probably sleep-walking, John. He didn't know what he was doing."  
John glanced across at the kitchen. The smell of alcohol was enough to knock you out.  
John saw the devastation .. the broken bottles, glass swimming in a tide of red. Wine stains up the cupboards.  
He groaned. "Oh God, Ritchie, I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry."  
Ritchie shook his head. "It'll clean up, John. There's worse things happen at sea. Let's get Paul seen to first, shall we? Has he hurt his fingers?"  
John took one of Paul's hands in his own, inspecting the tips of his fingers carefully.  
"There's a few cuts that are bleeding, but I dunno if there's any glass in them." John thoughtfully drew another throw over Paul, covering up his nakedness. The long legs were covered with red stains from the splashes of wine, and his feet were also stained.  
"Has he cut his feet?"  
John shook his head. "Don't think so. He never moved. Just .. stood there and .." John's mind replayed the horrific scenario. "Jesus, God knows what was going through his mind. I thought I'd walked into the middle of a Stephen King horror film."  
Ritchie opened a cupboard door and fetched a first aid kit.  
"Here, let's clean him up a bit. Swab his fingers first just to make sure there's no glass then just bandage the ends."  
For a few minutes the friends were quiet, carefully and methodically cleaning and bandaging Paul's fingertips up. John shot him the occasional glance, but apart from the odd shift in position Paul seemed to be soundly asleep. Ritchie fetched a bowl of hot water and a flannel and left John to wash down Paul's legs while he swept all the glass into a neat pile in the corner of the kitchen. He blocked his mind from thinking how much money's worth of alcohol Paul had destroyed in a few minutes.   
"Ritchie?"  
John's voice caught his attention. He was standing in the doorway, his face set.   
Ritchie paused in his sweeping. "Yeah?"  
John felt a pang of guilt. Ritchie looked so tired and defeated.  
"I'll just carry Paul up to bed .. he's out like a light .. then I'll come and help you clean up."  
Ritchie nodded, his big blue eyes drooping.  
John paused. "I'm sorry .. I'm really sorry."  
Ritchie waved a hand dismissively. "S'not your fault, John. It's not even Paul's to be honest. It's just .. one o' them things."  
John nodded. "Aye .. just one o' them things."

By the time they'd finished clearing up the kitchen, bagging up the broken bottles, washing down the cupboards and mopping the floor, it was almost four thirty. Ritchie would be getting up at six for work, and John and Paul an hour later. John made them both a cup of tea and they sat, numbed, their fingers wrapped around the mugs, gazing into nothing. All the cupboard held was three bottles of wine and a bottle of whisky. Paul had destroyed everything else. Ritchie couldn't recall everything that had been in the cupboard, but over three quarters had gone.  
They sat in silence before John, shuffling his feet to keep warm, finally muttered "I dunno what made him do it."  
It was an effort to reply. Ritchie was so tired he didn't know how he was going to do a full day shift. He felt groggy. It wasn't worth going to bed .. if he did he'd only get just over an hour and would be in danger of oversleeping anyway.  
A few minutes went by before Ritchie responded flatly "I don't think we'll ever know what goes on in Paul's mind."  
John glanced sharply at him. Those weren't the words John wanted to hear. They struck far too close to home. He thought of Paul, sleeping the sleep of the innocent upstairs at the moment, totally unaware of the havoc he'd wreaked.   
"I'll replace all the alcohol, Ritchie, don't worry." John felt he had to offer. He would have anyway.  
Ritchie gave a twisted smile. "In that case maybe I'd better find somewhere else to hide it. Just in case Paul .. " he stopped.  
The thought suddenly struck Ritchie.   
If Paul was capable of doing that, what else could he do? If he wasn't aware?  
How did they cover every eventuality?  
Ritchie looked at John, and in John's eyes he could see him thinking the same thoughts.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> References to sleep walking and past traumas that some people may find disturbing.

Immediately Paul woke he had a gut feeling something was wrong.  
He was scared to open his eyes, not sure where he was.   
He'd been dreaming about Luke and it had all been vivid.  
So vivid that he had an awful feeling it was real.  
And he was still in the flat.  
John, Ritchie, George, everyone he'd met; the whole last two years had all been pushed out of his mind.  
Luke hadn't left room for anyone.

His fingers hurt.  
That was the next thing Paul registered.  
They were throbbing painfully.  
He began to wish he'd not woken up to the next chapter of his life.  
Because it was a fucking nightmare.  
He whimpered slightly with the pain.  
Afraid of being hit.  
Afraid of being told to shut up.  
Afraid of what was going to happen to him next.

"Paul?"  
Paul gasped, the voice bringing with it a face. The face flooded his mind, shoving Luke away.  
Paul twisted in the bed, trying not to squash his fingers.  
He met John's worried face. John's tired face. John's 'I'm concerned' face.  
And Paul's worries came crashing back.   
He tried to sit up in bed, flinching when he accidentally leaned on his fingers.  
He stared at John, his eyes wide.  
"What is it? What have I done?"

John drew a deep breath. He could read the panic in Paul's eyes. He was tired. So tired he didn't know if he could cope with Paul right now. He was exhausted from the mental and physical demands the horrific night had placed on him.  
He sighed heavily.  
Paul heard the sigh and immediately interpreted it as trouble. Meaning .. him.  
He reached a tentative hand out towards John, mentally noting the bandaged fingertips.  
"John? John, what have I done .. " Paul's mind was suddenly flooded with alarming scenarios, each one worse than the previous.  
John caught his hand, trying to ground him, trying to still the panic, not sure if he had enough strength left in him to do so.  
There was no dodging round the truth.  
"You broke all the bottles Ritchie had stored away."  
Paul's eyes widened even more, if that were possible.  
He didn't know whether to be relieved or upset.  
All he knew was a rush of relief that at least he'd not hurt anyone.   
They locked eyes.   
"But .. but how did I? How .."  
"You slept walked."  
"Slept walked?"  
John nodded. "Yeah. Have you ever done that before?"  
Paul blinked rapidly, thinking. His instinct was to say no, but .. maybe???  
"I .. I dunno."  
John tried to offer a reassuring smile. It came out rather wobbly.  
"I keep wondering what your next trick is gonna be."  
Paul's heart sank.  
John hadn't meant it to sound like a rebuttal, but it did.  
Paul gathered up what shreds of dignity he had left. John saw him begin to build his walls. He leaned in and pulled the supple figure into his arms.  
"It's okay. Alright? No one's mad at you. You didn't know what you were doing."   
John's arms settled around Paul's waist and after a moment's hesitation John felt Paul's fingers slip around his neck, sliding through the longer strands at the back of his neck.  
Paul's head settled on his shoulder, words muffled by John's jumper. "I'm sorry."  
John rubbed his back soothingly. "There's nothing to be sorry about. Bottles can be replaced."  
"I'll pay .. I want to." John's shoulder was warmed by the moist breath as Paul spoke.  
"We'll see .. we'll sort it later, yeah?"  
Paul nodded. John could feel his lashes flickering against the side of his neck, tickling him.  
He hugged tighter. "Now listen, Paul .. I want you to get a good rest today .. "  
Paul pulled away from him and surveyed him anxiously. "No. No, John, I want to ..."  
"Paul" John chided, as if talking to a child " See reason. You've hurt your fingers .."  
"They're fine .."  
"..you can't play, you've had hardly any rest .. "  
"...John, I want to go to work .."  
Paul was so frustrated, tears starting to his eyes.   
"Please .." he clutched John's jumper, ignoring the pain in his fingertips. "Please, John, please..."  
John tried to prise him off. "George is coming round to stay ..."  
"I don't fucking want George .. I'm okay, will you listen to me!"  
John tightened his lips and eased Paul off him, standing up as he did so.  
"Just calm down and chill .. " John turned towards the door. He had to go. He had to open the shop. He had to do so many things. Ring the probation officer to let him know why Paul wasn't where he ought to be. Try and replace at least some of the bottles Paul had broken. And above all he needed sleep. "Try and get some rest .." he threw over his shoulder. As he passed through the doorway a pillow sailed after him, and he could hear Paul's shout of frustration.  
"Fuck off, then, just fuck off!"

George glanced at John carefully, one bushy eyebrow raised. "Not a good morning, then?"  
The sound of an object hitting the bedroom door made them both pause momentarily.  
John gave a twisted smile. "Had better. You gonna be okay with him?"  
George's smile was broad, reassuring. "I'll be fine. We'll have a good time. When you come back from work he'll be right as rain."  
John paused in buttoning his coat. "Has he done this before?"  
George folded his arms. "What? Thrown things or sleep walked?"  
Trust George to make light of things. Nothing seemed such a big deal with him around. "Both, really. Sleep-walked?"  
He saw George's eyes haze over. "Yeah. Yeah, he has. When he'd not long been with me. I woke in the middle of the night to find him in the kitchen placing every item of tableware I had in the sink. He'd built a bloody mountain of it, and it was sliding onto the drainer and onto the floor .. he had every cupboard open. He was busy adding the cutlery when I stopped him."  
John's eyes widened. "Did he remember .. the next morning, like?"  
George shook his head. "Nope. And I never told him either .. thought it might freak him out."  
John blinked. Christ, maybe he shouldn't have told Paul ...  
"I slept walked once" John admitted. "Just gone to High School. Must have got up in the middle of the night and got dressed. All me uniform on, ready to go. Scared me half to death. I was worried to go to sleep for the next few nights."  
George nodded. "Think how Paul feels, then."  
John wound his scarf round his neck. His eyes softened. "Look after him for me. I know he hates me at the moment for not letting him go to work but, seriously, his fingers are all cut up. Give 'em a day or two an' they'll improve."  
George patted his arm comfortingly.  
"We'll have a great time, me an' Paul, so don't worry."

When George entered the bedroom it was to see Paul wrapped in the duvet, his back to the door.  
Waves of negativity were rolling off him.  
George perched on the edge of the bed cautiously. "Paul?"  
"Go away" It was uttered without a moment's hesitation.  
Paul pulled the duvet higher up his neck, burying his head under it.  
"No."  
George was calm and definite in his response.  
Although Paul didn't come back at him he knew the wheels would be turning in Paul's mind. Thinking. Analysing.  
Finally Paul rolled over in the bed, taking the duvet with him, his eyes scanning George's face.  
"I don't need looking after. I'm not a child."  
"No one said you needed looking after. That's not why I'm here. John didn't want you left on your own all day, that's all. He thought I'd be company."  
Paul considered George's reply, slightly mollified.  
"How are your fingers?" George enquired, noting the bandaged fingertips that clutched the edge of the duvet.  
"Stinging."  
"D'you want me to look at them?"  
Paul shook his head. "It's my own fault." His voice was quiet, and deteriorated into a whisper so George had to strain his ears to listen. "I broke the bottles. Everything Ritchie had bought. It's okay if they hurt. It'll teach me a lesson."  
Whoa! Where had that sprung from?  
"Hey, mate, I don't think Ritchie'd be thinking that. No one wants you to be hurt."  
Paul'e eyes fixed on his. George could read in them that he didn't believe him.  
"Do you remember doing it at all?"  
Paul had descended into silence and simply shook his head.  
"D'you remember dreaming? Were you dreaming about anything..."  
Luke slammed back into Paul's mind so fast he gasped for breath. George saw the widened eyes, the sheer panic.  
He reached out his hand, grasping Paul firmly. "Okay...it's okay, I was just asking."  
Paul gripped onto George's hand.  
It must have hurt his fingers.  
On one bandage George could see a fresh spot of blood appear.  
George dug around for a way of making Paul feel better .. about himself .. about the situation.  
"Tell you what? Why don't you get up and dressed and we'll have some breakfast, then maybe we can make a list of the wine an' that you need to replace an' maybe I can go and get some .. if not today, then over the next few days. We'll surprise Ritchie with it, eh?"  
The idea appealed. Paul physically brightened.  
George breathed a sigh of relief.

Ritchie's feet were leaden on the walk home.  
He was also scared because he didn't know what he was going home to.  
And he was tired. Bone aching, wearily tired.  
He fitted his key into the lock and opened the green painted door.  
A wonderful aroma of food smells filled his nostrils and made him raise his head, a flicker of hope in his eyes.  
He hung his coat up and, his ears tingling from the cold outside meeting the sudden warmth within, made his way towards the parlour.  
He could hear George's laughter. It was warm and rich and earthy and true.   
As he opened the parlour door the smells and noise hit him, their joint arms open wide.  
George's head spun round. "Ah, Ritchie. Welcome home. We're preparing tea. Hope that's okay."  
Bemused, his steps carried him further into the parlour.   
Behind George he could see Paul hovering shyly.  
The poor kid must be feeling so guilty, Ritchie thought.  
He bravely stuck a grin on.  
George enveloped him in a big hug.  
George hugs were to die for.  
They made the whole world a better place.  
Then Paul was handing him a mug of tea, still shyly ducking his head.  
Ritchie noticed the bandages had been replaced with plasters.  
"How are they?" Ritchie asked.  
Paul coloured and murmured an unintelligible reply.  
George took Ritchie's arm and dragged him into the kitchen, proudly throwing open a cupboard door.  
"Look!" he exclaimed proudly.  
Ritchie could feel Paul'e eyes on him, waiting for his reaction.  
Most of the bottles had been replaced. Ritchie gaped.  
"You didn't have to!" he said to George.  
George nodded his head in Paul's direction.  
Ritchie turned and looked at him. His voice softened. "You didn't have to, Paul, honestly."   
Paul chewed his lip nervously.  
"Ah, but we did." George said, speaking for both of them.  
Ritchie reached out for Paul's hand, taking him by the wrist. "Y' soft lad" he said. He was quite overcome, and blinked rapidly.

Paul's ears were tuned to listen for John's key in the lock. The moment he heard it he was on his feet.   
George and Ritchie glanced up as Paul swiftly left the room, and exchanged a knowing look with each other.   
John was slowly unwinding his scarf. Like Ritchie he was not sure what he was coming home to.  
Before he'd removed his coat arms were around him.  
"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." Paul. His Paul. Warm and strong and smelling of food and coconut and tea.  
John drew him in closely, breathing him in.  
"I love you .. I do." Paul's lips were against his ear, his breath gusting warmly.  
John rested his head on Paul's shoulder. "I know y' do, y' daft lad."

They needed an early night. George had long gone as he started work at six thirty, and the little restaurant was getting busier on the run up to Christmas.  
By just after nine they'd cleared up the tea things, turned off the telly, put the lights off and headed up to bed.  
All was quiet except for the odd car travelling along the street outside.   
John sighed as he snuggled thankfully under the duvet, his arms slipping around Paul's waist, drawing the body to him.  
He nuzzled the back of Paul's neck.  
"How're y' fingers."  
Paul's voice was quiet in the darkness. "Okay, ta."  
"Not hurtin'?"  
He felt a small shrug. "Not much, no."  
Hmm. Probably meant they were.  
John breathed in Paul's scent. He felt himself relax. Sleep was beckoning. He began to drift.  
"John?"  
He jerked awake. He must have been well on the way then. He drew his thoughts together.  
"Hmm?"  
There was a slight pause, then "What if I do it again?"  
John stifled a yawn. What if he what? Oh .. "Y' not likely to, Paul."  
Sleep was tugging at his eyelids. Sleep.  
"But .. if I did? How would I know? How would you stop me?"  
Paul had turned in his arms .. when had he done that? .. and was staring worriedly at John, his eyes intense.  
John gave a lazy smile. "I'd have to tie you to the bed."  
Although John was half asleep he felt Paul freeze in his arms.  
He opened his eyes to find Paul was watching him, a mixture of fear and dread on his face.  
What had he just said?  
Oh! Oh! Shit!  
Fucking hell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I started high school .. a long long time ago now .. I woke one morning to find I was fully dressed in my school uniform. For the next few nights I was scared to go to bed. The thought that I could be up and doing things and not knowing I found very disturbing. I moved my experience onto John!


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Christmas and Ritchie's news

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for commenting .. I always look forward to hearing from those who are following this story.

Shock and horror coursed through John's veins, turning his blood to ice.  
The truth hit him with the force of a twenty ton truck slamming into his body.  
"Bloody hell!" he swore vehemently, crushing Paul's body to him in a desperate attempt to protect him from things that long ago happened.  
All shreds of sleep left him.  
He met Paul's eyes and could see the fear buried in the depths.  
John knew. As clear as day. What he'd said. What it meant. Paul's reaction spoke volumes.  
Chest to chest he could feel Paul's heart beating rapidly against his.  
John brought his hands up and smoothed the sides of Paul's face.  
The truth was staring at him. Mirrored in Paul's eyes.  
"Fucking hell" John whispered. "The bastard."  
It was a revelation.  
"That's what he did, didn't he?"  
He saw Paul swallow nervously, his Adam's apple bobbing.  
He drew Paul to him, burying his nose in the soft dark hair.  
"Fucking bleeding monster."  
For a moment he felt Paul's fingers clutch him, could feel the scratchy edges of the plasters.  
They cuddled in the dark. Drawing strength from each other.  
John was so angry words could not express.   
He wanted to lash out.  
How could someone have treated a vulnerable nineteen year old like that?  
Jesus Christ, no wonder Paul had nightmares.  
And what else had gone on?  
If the guy was capable of that, what other entertaining ideas had he had?  
He felt Paul squirm, pulling back, trying to ask something.  
John pushed away all thoughts of Luke Stanton, giving his full attention to Paul.  
He was aware, from the expression on Paul's face, he'd just been asked something.  
He smoothed his thumb over Paul's cheekbone.  
He just wanted to take this young man and expel all horrific memories from his mind, wanted to make everything better, wanted to love him till there was no room for anything or anyone else.  
Paul was speaking again. "If I did .. I might .. what if I hurt someone ... what if I hurt you?"  
"Why would you hurt me?"  
"Because, if I was sleep walking, I could .. I dunno, get a knife or something and stab you .. "  
John could tell from Paul's grip becoming tighter that he was really screwed up about this.  
It didn't seem rational. The chances of Paul sleep walking again were probably very remote.  
Nonetheless it was obviously a big concern to Paul, and therefore to be taken seriously by him too.  
John shoved all ideas of sleep from his mind.  
He had to help Paul through this. There was no one else who could.  
"I don't think you are likely to do it again Paul but .." he held his finger up to stop Paul interrupting "..to ease your mind, let's have a think. We could put a lock on the bedroom door but at a guess you'd manage that in your sleep if necessary."  
John was thinking, and he could feel Paul's eyes anxiously upon him, seeking help.  
"I guess you need a way of alerting me to the fact you are awake and maybe on the move .. yeah?"  
He met Paul's eyes and saw a confirming nod.  
"Right .. " God, sleep, I really need to sleep ..."so .. some way of waking me." John thought rapidly, concerned he might come up with something that would bring another swathe of unpleasant memories back for Paul.   
He looked hopefully at him. "Do you have any ideas?"  
In the dark Paul's eyes were glued to John's face, scarily intense. There was an infinitesimal head shake.  
"All I can think of, Paul, is if we somehow attach you to me so if you move I move .. or at least I'm alerted."  
Paul nodded, his eyes never leaving John's face.  
John sighed.  
"Okay. This sounds stupid but .. you know like the three legged races we used to do at school when we were kids? What if we got a tie and tied our ankles together before we went to sleep .. then if you move I'm gonna have to come with you."  
Paul smiled. It was such a relief to John to see that smile.  
"What if I want a pee?" Paul asked.  
John chuckled. "Don't think you'll do that sleep walking."  
"Okay then."  
"Okay?"  
"Okay."  
What to tie themselves together with that wouldn't hurt was the next question. After dismissing a few suggestions as being impractical or impossible it was Paul that hit upon the idea of using an ordinary men's tie such as you would put with a shirt. He possessed a few of them .. something John didn't, of course .. and produced an old one he hardly ever needed anymore.  
John did feel an idiot tying their ankles loosely together, but enough that it didn't come undone.   
Particularly when he rolled onto his side and jerked Paul's leg over his calves.  
They chuckled.   
It took a few minutes of re-arranging to discover the positions that were no longer accessible.  
Finally, with Paul nestled beneath John's arms, they slept.

Christmas Day 

Paul rolled over, yawning and stretching.   
He felt the jerk on his ankle from the tie that bound his ankle to John's. Quietly he brought his leg up, reaching down and unfastening it, trying not to disturb John who was snoring gently, a frown on his face, his auburn hair sticking in all directions.  
Paul paused for a moment to look at him. He loved to watch John sleep. It wasn't something he could do very often as John was normally the first awake. Paul's eyes drank in the familiar features. He was tempted .. oh so very tempted .. to lean over and give him a kiss but he didn't want to wake him. Today he, Paul, was going to be first up and bring John a cup of tea in bed .. maybe breakfast too?   
Paul slid out of bed, barefoot onto the lino, his toes curling at the cold, dragged on his boxers from the previous day and picked up John's navy woollen jumper from where he'd dropped it on the floor. It was big on Paul, despite him being slightly taller, the shoulders slipping off, and just about covered his backside. He crept downstairs to the kitchen.  
The smell of pine from the small tree up the corner filled the little parlour, and Paul paused to tell the tree how beautiful it looked, then pulled a face at himself .. the others would think he was mad if they heard him. He set the kettle on the hob and closed the kitchen door so that the whistle wouldn't disturb. His eyes darting around the kitchen, he began gathering a tray, putting on it a bowl for cereal (John loved cornflakes) a paper Christmas napkin with a robin and holly printed on it, a jug of milk, and, after a moments thought, added a sprig of the fresh holly they had in a jug on the kitchen counter. When the kettle boiled he added the water to two mugs, leaving them to brew. From out of the tiny kitchen window he could see the wall of the pocket sized garden, it's bricks dusted with frost. Eyes misty and miles away, he began humming a Christmas carol ... he didn't know the words, just the tune. He was vaguely aware of his legs feeling cold, the chill rising from the kitchen tiles, but not enough to disturb his reverie.  
Suddenly he was startled when the kitchen door banged open, and John stood there, panic all over his face, barefoot, hair in all directions.  
He gaped at Paul, hope and disbelief flooding his features.  
Paul stopped humming and looked at him.  
John drew a breath. "Fucking hell, Paul."  
Next moment Paul was crushed into a phenomenal hug.  
"Bloody hell, I woke up an' you'd gone an' I thought .."  
Paul pulled back in John's arms, a smile curling at the corner of his lips.  
"I was going to bring you breakfast in bed."  
How could he be angry? How could he be annoyed at this fey figure wearing a too big jumper and very little else? It was the panic John had felt when he woke and Paul wasn't there and ...  
John heaved a sigh of relief, pulling Paul in for another hug. He kissed the tousled dark hair. "I thought .. I woke and you weren't there, and .."  
He felt Paul's lips find his collarbone, a darting of small warm moist kisses.   
"I'm fine .. I'm fine .." he peppered John's chest with them " I love you, I do, y'know, I love you so so much."  
John drew back, his eyes twinkling.  
"Oh aye, have you been on the booze down here then?"  
Paul blew a raspberry on John's shoulder, causing the older man to leap back, ticklish.  
Paul turned to the two mugs, and lifted out the tea bags. "Nope. Not even had a cuppa yet, and if they're stewed it's your fault."

John LOVED the book Paul had got for him. All wrapped up in shiny green and red .. of course .. Christmas paper. And the pack of pencils. And the pack of charcoals. John's fingers twitched to get drawing again. It had been such a long time since he had. He used to enjoy doing portraits. He glanced up from his wondering thoughts to see Paul watching him, those dark hooded eyes observing his every move. John knew who would make a brilliant subject .. if he could ever a) get him to stay still long enough and b) would he have the skill to catch the many nuances that flickered across Paul's face?  
Paul LOVED the mobile phone John had bought for him. Even as John began to explain the various apps that his friend had made sure were on, and what it could do, Paul's fingers were already flying across the screen, his brow furrowed in concentration.   
Two hours later and Ritchie nudged John, indicating Paul who was spreadeagled on the settee, the phone never having left his hands, a word never having left his lips. Totally engrossed.  
"You'll wish you'd bought him something else at this rate" Ritchie murmured with a smile.  
John just shrugged. Let Paul enjoy it. It was Christmas, after all, and how many Christmases had the guy had that he could just have fun and do whatever he wanted?

The party was so much fun. Fortunately not everyone arrived at the same time, or the house would have been heaving. It was wonderful seeing so many friends again. Catching up with Trevor and meeting his family. Howard and his mum. Lottie with her sister. They had put on Christmas C.D.s and the well-known tunes were ringing out.  
'So here it is, Merry Christmas, everybody's having fun' they sang at the top of their voices. Paul found himself waltzing around the room with Ritchie's mum, to his embarrassment and her delight. When the song finished, John caught him in his arms and made him waltz around the room with him. Paul didn't know which he'd been the most embarrassed about.   
"Come on, Paul, lead us in a sing-song" John called, and Ritchie and George added their encouragement. Paul ducked shyly back into a corner, but soon the other guests were stamping their feet calling "Paul! Paul!" Eventually he went and fetched his guitar, and perched on the arm of the settee led them through a swathe of all-time favourites.  
As the clock headed towards midnight, Ritchie called for a moments attention.   
"A few thanks .. " he said, waving his glass around, the wine sloshing out " ...to Paul and John for helping to organise this .." he tipped them a wink .."well done, fellas, you're great house mates. To me mum for having me .." there was a round of laughter, and then Ritchie dropped the bombshell "..and to Lottie, who has agreed to become my wife!"  
There were whistles and catcalls and cheers. Ritchie's arm was nearly shaken off in congratulations, and Lottie, pink and flushed and giggling, received many hugs.  
"Whoa, mate, y' kept that one quiet" John said, patting Ritchie on the back.  
Ritchie looked at him in all seriousness. "I knew she was the one from the very first date. I wanted to be sure she felt the same about me. There was another reason I held back too ..." Ritchie paused, his voice low ... "I wanted to make sure you an' Paul were okay before I made any moves. An' you are." He raised his big blue eyes to John. "You are, aren't you?"  
The smile slipped from John's face. Ritchie was looking for confirmation here. John nodded, serious. "We are, Ritchie. We're getting there and we will get there."  
"Ritch?" It was Paul at John's elbow. He leaned across in front of John. "Congratulations, mate. Awesome news. When's it gonna be?"  
Ritchie blinked for a moment, and a smile curved Paul's lips. "The wedding? Got a date?"  
Ritchie grinned broadly. "Oh, that! Yeah .. well, not yet, but we thought maybe in the summer some time. After all, I've already got a house, so it isn't as if we need to wait."  
Already got a house. Paul glanced at John, and wondered if he'd realised the impact of that news.

John yawned widely. "Fucking knackered, Paul. Come on, mate, get in..." He held the duvet open invitingly. Paul was rummaging for a tie. John stifled a sigh.   
"D'you really think you .." he trailed off as Paul turned to look at him. This was serious business to Paul. He wasn't running any risks. He approached John holding out a Christmas patterned tie with little Santa's on it to John, his lips smiling, his eyes serious.  
John shook his head. "Honestly, Macca, it's nearly three in the morning. I'd a thought you'd be too knackered to be doing any sleep walking."  
Paul bent his dark head over their two ankles, carefully tying a knot that left them room to manoeuvre .  
"Not taking any chances, Johnny" Paul sounded breathless from his huddled up position.  
John reached out and stroked Paul's bent back.  
"An' what if I feel like ravishing you?"  
Paul swung round to him, flushed, his dark eyes smiling. "Just have to be inventive, won't you?"  
John gathered him into his arms, nuzzling at his neck. "That I can do."  
As their love-making gathered pace, it became necessary for John to pause and undo the tie. His member was throbbing and definitely needed seeing to. He could sense Paul's muffled giggles as he fumbled desperately with the knot.  
"Fucking hell, Paul, you didn't mean this to come undone."  
Next moment Paul was there beside him in the dark, his long fingers expertly unravelling the knot. John could feel Paul's hardened member pressing against his thigh as Paul swiftly got rid of the encumbrance. John gathered him up in his arms, crushing him, pressing him down beneath him, then with a chuckle Paul flipped them both over, a determined glint in his eyes.  
"My turn, I think." His breath ghosted into John's ear, making him shiver.  
John loved it when Paul took control.  
LOVED it.  
It made him feel that their partnership was on equal terms.  
Also it made him feel good that he had encouraged this element within Paul, taking away the trait Paul had come to him with that he was there to be used.  
And that he now had the confidence to initiate their love-making.  
On top of which, a tiny part of John's brain that had not yet turned to mush concluded, Paul was a bloody good lover.  
Scrub that .. an awesome lover.  
Except .. why did he always feel the need to have a conversation afterwards?  
Why couldn't they just collapse into slumberland?  
"John?"  
John ground his teeth. Maybe if he ignored him?  
"John?"   
A little louder. More insistent.  
This was Paul, he reminded himself.  
Stubborn. Determined. He wouldn't shut up till he'd said what he wanted.  
And he wouldn't say in two words what he could use twenty six for.  
There was a poke in John's ribs.  
"John?"  
"What?" John barked, turning impatiently in bed.  
He saw Paul flinch back.  
Shit, he chastised himself.  
He reached out a hand.  
"I'm sorry .. okay? I'm sorry. What did you want to say?"  
Even in the dark John could see the shutters come down.  
When was he going to get used to managing Paul?  
He ought to know by now.  
John leaned up on one elbow.  
"Paul, I love you to bits, okay? You know that! Now just say what the fuck you want to say and then we can go to sleep."  
Paul twiddled with an invisible thread on the duvet.  
"It's okay, it doesn't matter" he muttered.  
John nearly heaved a sigh, then stopped himself quickly.  
Don't do that, Lennon.   
"It obviously does matter because you woke me to say it."  
He saw the stubborn set of Paul's jaw.  
This guy was not as malleable as he appeared at first sight.  
John did heave a sigh. He couldn't help it. He also sat up. There was no point in considering sleep. He had to contend with a stroppy McCartney.  
John drew his knees up, ignoring the fact that by doing so he pulled the duvet off most of Paul's body.  
"I'm listening!" he announced to the room in general and Paul in particular.  
"It can wait till tomorrow." Paul said.  
John grit his teeth. "If it can wait till tomorrow then why the fuck did you wake me?"  
He turned to look at Paul in the darkness, who was gazing up at him with worried eyes.  
Worried eyes? Why? What was Paul stressing over now?  
John wracked his brain, trying to think.  
It had been a fantastic party.   
There was nothing in his memory to cause Paul to stress.  
Suddenly, John was the unsure one. Was there something he'd missed?  
"Paul?"  
Paul knew he had John's attention. Knew he had his curiosity.  
"It's Ritchie.." Paul was hesitant.  
John raised an eyebrow. "Yeah?"  
It came out in a torrent from Paul's lips, like a dam releasing. "If he gets married .. well, he is getting married, y'know .. to Lottie, an' he said in the summer, an' he's already got a house, he said, so they didn't have to save an' they'll live here, I guess, they're sure to, then .. where will we live?"  
John had tried to follow the rapid stream of words as they poured out. Fortunately Paul's worry was condensed into the last four words of his sentence.  
The penny dropped with John.  
Paul was gazing intently at him in that way he had, as if John could solve, immediately, any problems and answer all questions.   
John loved him.  
He loved the way he expectantly looked at him.  
He loved the way he trusted him.  
He tugged Paul up into his arms.   
He wrapped his arms around him.  
"Paul .. Ritchie ain't gonna throw us out."  
"Yeah, but .."  
"No 'but's' okay? I'll talk to him and see what his plans are."  
"But Lottie won't want .."  
"Sssh. Stop worrying. I'll chat to Ritchie in the morning. Anyway .." it came as a sudden and not unpleasant thought to John "...maybe it's time we got our own place."  
He felt Paul still within his arms.   
John pulled back, scanning his face.  
There was a hopeful smile plastered on it.  
And Paul's smiles were to die for.  
"What d'you think?" John asked.  
Paul chewed his lip. John could see the twinkle in his eye.  
"I think .. I think that'd be nice."  
"Only nice?"  
"Good. No, good." He paused, and his smile was at once hopeful and shy. "Good if I'm with you."  
John dug him in the ribs causing him to squirm.  
"Lovely."  
"Ah .. lovely now, is it?"  
Paul chuckled, wriggling from John's grip.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The party aftermath

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't really intend to write this chapter ... it seemed to write itself. Sometimes these characters have their own ideas.

Fingers dug into Paul's legs, prising them apart. He could feel the pressure of thumbs on his upper thighs digging in enough to leave bruises. In a panic he flailed his arms around, astonished for a brief moment of time that his wrists hadn't been secured first. Surprised he put every ounce of energy into wildly flinging them around and felt a jolt of satisfaction when one arm collided with a dull thud against flesh, and he heard a muffled exclamation. The pressure on his thighs was released but someone caught his wrists, pinning them over his head. Panicking he bucked his hips and kicked his legs in an effort to prevent anyone from getting hold of him, yet deep inside knowing all the time it was futile. He brought one leg up sharply, hoping to cause at least a slight delay, and felt it collide with another body.  
"Fuck .. Paul, for Christ's sake .. sshh ... it's only me .. it's only me .."  
Paul's eyes flew open to see John hovering above him, his nose dripping blood that was spattering on the bed linen, a red mark across his cheek.  
Paul was breathing so fast he was gasping, drawing air into his lungs in huge gulps. His eyes fixed on John, unsure, for a moment, still lost in a netherworld.  
John paused and let go of one of his arms in order to swipe his hand across his nose, leaving a trail of blood up his forearm, staining the reddish hairs a vivid scarlet. He  
groped blindly on the bedside table for a tissue, his eyes never losing contact with Paul's, moving warily, not wanting to startle the young man further.  
Mopping up his nose, sniffling as he did so, he leaned back on his heels. He was aware of his cheek smarting. It was a fairly hefty blow Paul had dealt him.  
John watched the growing awareness in Paul's eyes as he came slowly to his senses. The cloudy confusion gave way to a dawning realisation.  
John gave him a wry smile. "I was just trying to untie us" he explained.  
The colour rushed into Paul's face. "Oh God, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry." He reached up a hand and touched the reddening cheek.  
John's smile grew wider. "I didn't know you could throw left punches like that. Maybe you should consider a different career?"  
Paul remained serious, his dreams still a vivid memory. "I .. I thought ..." he trailed off.  
John knew only too well what Paul thought.  
Warily, John indicated their ankles. "Are you okay if I untie us? Only I need a pee."  
Paul nodded, his eyes glued to John's face.  
John turned his attention back to their ankles and swiftly undid the tie that bound them. His voice, from bending over, was muffled.  
"I'll talk to Ritchie later .."  
Paul frowned. He hadn't yet caught up. The past still held him with binding tentacles. Not hearing a response, John twisted round, holding aloft the Santa patterned tie. He scanned Paul's face swiftly, trying to ascertain what state of reality the young man had arrived at. He noted the frown.  
"..about what he'd like us to do when he gets married. Remember?"  
Remember? Paul's mind was hazy. When who gets married? Married? Is there something he should know?  
Paul had gone very still, thinking, wondering. He couldn't recall ....  
John could see the confusion. He sat back on the bed next to Paul, keeping his voice and his actions deliberately slow.  
"Ritchie said he was getting married and you were wondering about where we will live .. that was last night. At the party. Do you remember the party?"  
Paul closed his eyes for a moment. He didn't want anyone .. John in particular .. to see his inadequacy. Sometimes things slipped out of Paul's mind. With his eyes tight shut he tried to recall what had happened yesterday. A party? They'd been to a party? The more Paul searched his memory the more other voices, other people, pushed their way in, their voices louder, their actions more dominant. A party .. a party ..  
A thumb gently smoothed down his cheekbone. "Paulie?" It was a whisper.  
"A party." Paul kept his eyes tightly shut.  
John frowned. "Yeah, that's right. We had a party here .. last night. We didn't go to bed till late .. well, nearly three it was, and then you talked. You talked about Ritchie getting married to Lottie, remember? And you were worrying about where we were going to live, and I said maybe it's time we got a place of our own? Can you remember?"  
John continued stroking the side of Paul's cheek, providing him with all the information he was able to in the hope he could jar Paul's memory. Even as he chatted, trying desperately not to sound concerned, John was searching his mind for a reason for why Paul was like this this morning. Something had obviously triggered unhappy memories. Could it be the uncertainty of their future lodgings? A nagging bladder brought more urgent matters to John's mind.  
"I've gotta pee. D'you want a cup of tea?"  
Paul's eyes were still determinedly screwed shut, but there was an imperceptible nod.

John found Ritchie was already in the kitchen making tea for him and Lottie, who'd stayed over. Ritchie flashed a grin John's direction then did a double take.  
"Bloody hell. What happened to you, eh?"  
John felt his smarting cheek that was now starting to purple. He groaned. "Paul hit me, that's what happened. He was asleep .. didn't know he could throw punches like that."  
Ritchie's eyes widened. "Wowee!! It's a stunner, mate."  
John dug a couple of mugs out of the cupboard. "Having a bit of a nightmare again, I reckon."  
He saw Ritchie wince sympathetically. "Oh, right. Is he okay now?"  
John shrugged, unsure. How could Paul have forgotten last night? How could he have forgotten the party?  
"'m not sure, to be honest, Ritch. He was stressing a bit 'cos you'd said you were gettin' married and worryin' over where we would live .. "  
Ritchie's mouth was agape. "What? Well .. I honestly hadn't thought that far meself yet. Just assumed you two'd carry on living here. It wouldn't bother me an' Lottie."  
"I told him that, but he just got a bee in his bonnet about it an' I said well maybe it's time we got a place of our own anyway, an' he seemed really happy about that .."  
John filled the two mugs with boiling water, his cheek starting to really hurt now, the steam puffing up his face from the kettle. He wiped it off his glasses and popped them back on. " Trouble is, Ritch, this morning he can't remember any of it. He can't even remember the party."  
Ritchie's jaw dropped even lower. "Can't remember...? ..but .. he played for us?"  
John stirred the tea bags round. "Yup. Dunno what's gone on." He swiped a hand worriedly across his face, his next words muttered. "I love the daft bugger to bits, but sometimes I'm just not sure how to handle him."  
Ritchie chewed his lip anxiously. "He's been through a lot, John."  
John added milk to the mugs. "Yeah" it was a sigh "I know. So we keep saying. An' I know he has. He's been through a fuckin' awful lot. But no-one's given me a manual of instructions on how to look after him. I mean " John picked the mugs up then put them down again, turning to Ritchie "I thought, last night, yeah .. get our own place. It'd be great now, me an' Paul, but d'you know what, Ritch?" Ritchie shook his head, his eyes not leaving John's face. "I'm scared to. I'm actually scared to get my own place with Paul because no one would be around to help, and what if I can't cope? What if I can't look after him? What if he does something .. or tries to do something .. or .. shit, I dunno, what if he tops himself?"  
"Don't say that, John."  
"Well, he's tried before, hasn't he? An' not just once, either, from what I've heard. And from what I've seen. He's got scars on his wrist .. I've noticed 'em. An' nobody's ever mentioned what they're from, or when. I mean, he's not exactly mentally stable, is he?" To his surprise and dismay John found tears were coursing down his cheeks. He sniffed them back, impatiently. "Ah, fuck it, Ritchie. I so want this to work, me an' him. An' he relies on me, I know he does."  
"It will work, John, honest .. I'm sure you'll both be okay. He just needs time, doesn't he."  
"Yeah, but .. how much time? Sometimes I think he's improving, then suddenly y' back to square one again. I tell y' Ritch I'm at me wit's end ... I start to relax, thinking everything is okay, then suddenly he ...."  
John stopped abruptly. He saw Ritchie's face horrorstruck glance away from him to the kitchen door.  
John cursed himself. He turned slowly to see Paul watching them, his cheeks flushed. John knew without asking he'd heard every word. Before he could cover his confusion Paul had gone.  
"Shit!" John put his head in his hands. "Oh fucking shitting shit."

Hands stuffed deep into his coat pockets, Paul walked. He didn't know where he was walking to or which direction, yet somehow his feet took him towards the docks. He'd always found the lure of water fascinating, the endless tides, grey and cold, washing up the stone brickwork of the docks. He'd seen old photos of these docks when they'd been grimy and busy, as grey and grainy as the curled and tattered photographs themselves, little boats bobbing about on the water, all with their own jobs to do, with freight to carry and passengers to transport. Now the docks were renovated, busy shopping areas with museums, art galleries and cafes littering the front. A life far removed from their original intended use.  
The cold wind buffeted Paul's face, reddening the tip of his nose, colouring his cheeks. He welcomed the wind. He could feel it. To feel was good. It detracted him from the numb feeling in the pit of his stomach. He paused, watching the tide lapping at the grey stone, leaning on the rails. John's words kept running through his mind in an unending stream. In Paul's mind it translated to one thing ... John didn't want him. He was too difficult. Too hard to cope with. Mentally unstable. Not worth the effort. Not worth it. Not worth anything. He was nothing. Nothing. Luke's face floated tauntingly in front of his face. I told you .. you're nothing. Nothing.  
A sudden severe gust of wind rocked him and he clutched the railings, his fingers freezing on the metal. He shouldn't be here. He was tagged. The police would have picked up by now that he was out of bounds. The wind whipped his dark hair across his face, and he pushed it away impatiently. On such a cold day very few people were around. Most were indoors in the warmth, enjoying the freedom that a few days off gave them. Larders were stocked with food, children had new toys to play with, comedies on the telly, beer in the fridge. Who in their right mind would be out on such a miserable day .. apart from a few dog walkers and enthusiastic runners.  
Paul leaned on the railings, the surge of the water soothing in a mesmeric way. The endless cycle .... whatever happened, whatever went on ... the ocean seemed eternal. Forever moving. Restless and yet serene. People came and people went but it endured.  
A plastic bottle bobbed on the water, caught by a wave. Paul watched it as it drew nearer to the wall, only to be pulled back again. But each time it came a little nearer. Another inch, another two inches, finally catching on the stone steps below. Paul leaned over the railing, slippery under his numbed fingers, to see where it had disappeared to. His hair was whipping wildly in the wind.  
He didn't hear a car draw to a halt behind him.  
He started when a heavy hand was placed on his arm though, and a voice said "You don't want to do that, son. Come on, get in the car."  
Paul's eyes went blank.  
He no longer cared.  
What happened to him.  
Who this was that had taken him.  
He locked himself away.  
An impenetrable shield.  
He was nothing.

John was frantic. Paul had gone and they had no idea where to start looking for him. His mobile phone was in the bedroom, so no sense in trying to call him. They rang George but he'd not heard from him. George was swift to pick up the panic in Ritchie's voice though. He'd known Paul long enough to understand their urgency.  
"What frame of mind was he in?"  
Ritchie clutched his phone tightly. "Not good, George. Not good. He overheard John say .. well, it doesn't matter now. But .. he overheard something."  
George digested the information but didn't make anything of it. At the moment it was unimportant.  
"Have you rung his probation officer?"  
"No .. no, we haven't. Just hopin' we can find him first."  
George raised his eyebrows .. not that Ritchie could see. "Well, I reckon the police will already have picked up the fact he's on the move."  
Ritchie started. Of course, the tag. Fuck!  
"Oh! I .. I didn't think."  
"You'll probably hear from them, I would think. D'you want me to come over?"  
Ritchie had a mental image of George. Steady, strong, wise. Things were never so bad when he was around. Nothing seemed as desperate.  
"Please."  
Well, what could George do? Nothing, really, but just to have him there.  
John was pacing the room. He wanted to go out and search for Paul but where did you start?  
Where the hell in a big city did you start?  
Him and his big mouth.  
Christ .. if they could just find Paul and have him safe he'd put up with anything.  
"God, Ritchie, if he's ..."  
Horrific scenarios played out in John's mind.  
"He'll be okay, John...." Ritchie was gabbling reassurances but his wide blue eyes contradicted his utterances.  
What was Paul capable of doing? If he was down?  
"I didn't mean it, y'know, what I said. It was the heat of the moment." John twisted his fingers together. Guilt tore at his insides.  
"Well maybe I did mean it, but not like that. I'd put up with him just to have him."  
John paced another circle. "Christ, I hope he's okay. Oh God!"  
Another circle. "It's just every now and then he sort of flips .. but I could cope .. if he just comes back. What if he doesn't?"  
John looked at Ritchie with eyes full of fear. "What if he doesn't?"  
"Of course he will, John."  
"I'm a bastard .. should have kept my big mouth shut."  
Lottie watched them both from bemused eyes.  
She'd never realised how close they all were.  
Far closer than your average friendship group.  
John was holding Paul's mobile phone, as if by doing so he could hold on to Paul. Stupid.  
His mobile rang. He looked at Paul's phone in bewilderment.  
"John, it's your mobile" Ritchie alerted him.  
John struggled to extricate his phone from the back pocket of his jeans.  
Lottie and Ritchie watched and listened to a half sided conversation.  
They saw relief flood John's face.  
"Okay. Okay, I'll be there in a few minutes. Thank you. Thank you so much."  
He flipped his phone off and looked at them.  
"The police have him .. main headquarters. I'm going now. I'll just get a taxi .. Ritch, have you got a fiver I can borrow? Ta."  
"Is he okay?"  
John paused. "I didn't ask but ... I guess so."

"Who's his probation officer?"  
The duty officer searched on the computer. "It says here it's Steve Warren." He glanced up at his senior officer. "Shall I ring him?"  
The senior officer twiddled his thumbs, thinking. Not nice to have your Christmas break disturbed. Yet he'd need informing.  
"Has he said anything? The young man .. what's his name? Paul or James?"  
The duty officer flicked his attention back to the screen. "He's known as Paul."  
"Hmm. Has he spoken? Said why he was out?"  
The duty officer shook his head. "Not a word. They've got him in a holding cell at the moment. He's been divested of personal possessions and they've taken the precaution of removing his belt .. " the officer paused " they seem to think he might be a bit unbalanced. Just not taking any chances. He's not acknowledged anyone or responded to any questions."  
The senior officer's curiosity piqued. "Oh? What's he in for?"  
The duty officer scrolled down the report on line. "Drugs. Dealing and selling."  
"Was he a user?"  
"Not that I can see. Nothing on here."  
The senior officer moved over to look at the screen. He scanned the report quickly. A name leapt out at him.  
"Ah ha! I recall this case .. last June. The one involving Luke Stanton and that drug ring .. they dealt in pornography and booze as well. Do you remember?"  
The younger officer nodded. "Yes. Yes, I do recall. He died at the scene, didn't he, Luke Stanton?"  
"Mm hmm .. more's the pity. Never brought to justice over it all. And this young fella you've picked up was unfortunately caught up in it all. They tried to silence him .. he was knifed not far from the hospital where he worked. He was given a light sentence because of extenuating circumstances. It all comes back to me now .. a friend of mine was on the case. Right. Well, we'd better get hold of Steve and see if this lad will talk to him if he won't talk to us. Can't have him in the cell overnight without a just cause."

"It was my fault. I said something and he got upset."  
John arrived at the police headquarters at the exact same time as Steve. He'd quickly headed him off.  
"Honestly, it's not his fault. You must believe me." John was distraught.  
Steve blinked slowly. He'd been having a relaxing morning with his family when the call had come through. His first reaction had been one of disappointment. Until that moment Paul had stuck rigidly to every rule that had been set and was in line for certain parts of his sentence to be reduced, although he hadn't known that fact.  
"Paul knows the rules, John."  
John could have cried with anger. "Yeah, I know he does, but .. he was upset. He just fled. Let me take him home, please?"  
Steve hesitated. He didn't like bending the rules, but then again the rules were set to help people, not bend people to fit them.  
"Shall I go and talk to him?"  
John breathed a sigh of relief.

Paul was sitting on the small bench, his eyes fixed somewhere in the distance. At the sound of the door being unlocked his eyes flickered over to see Steve entering. Steve noted the recognition in Paul's glance although he immediately returned his eyes to some invisible point that only he could see. Steve sat down by him quietly. Over the last few months he'd got to know Paul and his ups and downs fairly well. Although Paul had made his face an impassive mask Steve could see a muscle twitching at the side of his jaw.  
"Paul?"  
There was an almost imperceptible shift in the body next to him. There was no way Paul wasn't listening to what was being said.  
"Why did you leave the house? Where were you headed?"  
Paul continued to stare stoicly ahead.  
"You know you're not meant to leave certain boundaries without permission, don't you?"  
Paul's knee gave a nervous twitch.  
"You must be frozen, going out in this weather. I was tucked up by the fire watching the telly. The kids are driving me barmy with their new electronic toys .. they've both had lightsabers for Christmas. I'm hoping the batteries will run out soon."  
Paul's eyes were still fixed in the distance and he didn't acknowledge the informal chit chat Steve attempted.  
Steve sighed. "Would you like to go ho..."  
"No!" The word was out of Paul before Steve had time to finish the sentence. He looked at Paul in astonishment before continuing.  
"You don't want to stay here the night, son, it's not very comfortable and the food's awful." He attempted a joke to lighten the mood.  
He saw Paul swipe his finger swiftly under his eyes before taking up his position again. The nervous tic had become more prominent.  
Steve spoke gently. "So where would you like to go? We don't have a lot of choice here."  
"George's." Paul was quite definite. He still would not meet Steve's eyes though.  
George's, yes. One of the alternate addresses.  
"And would George be happy to have you, do you think?"  
Paul didn't think anyone would be happy to have him, he was too difficult. He was a head case. Mentally unstable. Hard work. Unpredictable. He pushed these thoughts to one side and nodded.  
Steve rose to his feet. "Okay. Give me a few minutes to make some phone calls, alright?"  
Paul nodded again, his eyes still glued to an invisible point.

"He wants what?" Dismay was written plainly across John's face. He'd not reckoned on that.  
"Did you have a barney?"  
John shook his head. "No, nothing like that. He .. he overheard me say something an' he's taken it seriously."  
"So what would you like me to do? At the end of the day I have to do what is best for Paul and if that means making alternative living arrangements for a few weeks then that's what I need to do. Has he lived with George before?"  
John nodded miserably. "Yeah. Lived with him for quite a long time. George doesn't have much room though, and he works in an evening 'cos he's a chef."  
"So Paul would be on his own?"  
John nodded. Steve thought rapidly. Someone who was subject to depression needed not to be left alone. This lad had attempted suicide at least twice to Steve's knowledge. Maybe more. It really didn't sound ideal.  
"I'm not sure about Paul being on his own" Steve shook his head. "I really don't think that's a good idea."  
Hope rose in John's breast. "Can you maybe point that out to him? Talk some sense into him?"  
Steve sighed. "He was quite adamant about it. I'm not sure what to do for the best. He's better off with you really, but he's obviously upset over something. When are you back in work?"  
"Not till after the New Year .. we've closed for a week."  
"And Ritchie? Is he in work?"  
John nodded. "Yeah .. back on shift tomorrow and working New Year's Day .. it can be a busy one at the hospital."  
Steve gave a rueful smile. "Yes, I expect it can. If this is a problem I can get Paul back in at the detention cent....."  
"No!" John's curt reply was as swift as Paul's had been, cutting Steve off. "No, not that. It'll just make him feel he's going backwards."  
"I'm not seeing alternatives at the moment, John." Steve shook his head.  
"Can I talk to him? Will you let me have a word?"  
Steve hesitated. Always he had to consider what was the best recourse for his client. Paul had seemed set on going to George's.  
"Where is George at the moment? Is he at home?"  
"No. He came over to our house when Paul went missing. He's still there."  
Steve mulled the information over. "So .. do you think Paul would be happy to go back to your house if he knew George was there?"  
"He might."  
"Have they known each other a long time?"  
"Yeah .. years."  
"And does Paul trust George?"  
John nodded.  
"Hhmm" Steve hummed, thinking. He walked a small circle while he chewed things over, looking for a solution.  
"So .. do you think he might listen to George?"  
John looked at him. Where was this going? "I guess so."  
"Right" Steve rubbed his hands together "Okay. I'll send a car to take you home and bring back George. I'll get George to talk to Paul and see if he can get any sense out of him, and hopefully send them both back to you. If Paul downright refuses then I have no choice other than to take him back in .. but .. " Steve saw the shock on John's face .. " I hope it won't come to that."

Paul lost track of time. He was vaguely aware of the fact it seemed to have been a long time since Steve had left the cell, but he'd retreated into himself and was still staring fixedly at the wall in front of him. The odd twinge of hunger every now and then reminded him he'd not yet eaten today, and it was probably past lunch-time. If he thought about it. Which he didn't. Not really. He did think about John though. He hadn't meant to hit him this morning. He hadn't meant to worry John. He'd been really excited about John's idea of them getting their own place, and it had made him feel warm and secure that John felt he could take that step .. such a BIG step .. with him. With Paul. It made him feel wanted. Loved. It made him feel that he belonged. Was someone. Not a nobody. Not a nothing. Like Luke had said. He wasn't a nothing.  
But then he'd heard John say he was at his wit's end. He'd heard him say it. With him. With Paul. Who was nothing. Not really. Not worth worrying over. Not worth the bother. Just trouble. John had called him that. He'd thought it was affectionately, but maybe it wasn't.  
"Paul?"  
Paul hadn't heard George come in the cell he was so wrapped up in his thoughts, but then a smell of spices enveloped him.  
He turned, hopeful, and met George's dark concerned eyes. George could see all the emotions swirling behind Paul's eyes.  
"I hit him."  
George was mystified, then the penny dropped.  
"Who? John? You didn't mean to, Paul."  
"He's had enough of me."  
A frown creased George's brow. "I think you've got the wrong end of the stick there, love. John's not had enough of you. He's been going out of his mind with worry wondering where you were. What made you run?"  
George saw confusion cross Paul's face. "Run?"  
George backed down quickly. Obviously some kind of stress had caused Paul to reject certain memories.  
"It's okay, it doesn't matter. Shall we go home?"  
"To your place?"  
George hesitated. "My place isn't good at the moment. I'm not there. And John is waiting at home for you."  
"He's had enough of me." That same line again.  
George shook his head, plastering a smile on his face. "No he hasn't, Paul. I don't know where you got that idea. But he hasn't. He worries about you. Maybe that's what you heard, yeah? He worries about looking after you when there's not others around." George thought he may as well try and be truthful. "But that doesn't mean he's had enough of you."  
"I'm trouble."  
George passed it off as a joke. "Yup, you are that, but we wouldn't have you any other way. Now .. shall we go home? John's waiting for you."  
Paul's eyes scanned George's face. He looked lost. Bewildered. George wondered to himself how many of these petit mal episodes Paul was having.  
George stood up, and held out his hand to Paul.  
"Come on, John's waiting for you. Let's get you home, eh?"  
To his relief Paul took George's proffered hand and also rose to his feet. He seemed oblivious to his surroundings as they left the police station and were bundled into the back of a car, Steve throwing a questioning glance at George as they did so.  
"Home?"  
George nodded a confirmation, and he heard Steve give directions to the driver for Ritchie's house.  
He was aware of the warmth and weight of Paul's body pressed against him during the journey, as if he was seeking security. George kept up a running commentary in a gentle voice into Paul's left ear of the meals he'd been making at the restaurant, the book he'd been reading, what Gandhi the cat had been up to, anything he could think of to distract Paul from turning inward.  
It was with relief that he felt the car draw up at Ritchie's house.  
Steve was murmuring something to George about calling him later, just to let him know Paul was okay.  
As Paul exited the car, John was there, pulling him into a crushing hug.  
Paul struggled back out of John's arms, his eyes rapidly scanning John's face with its purpling bruise.  
"I hit you."  
John grinned at him, just relieved he was back. "Don't know your own strength, Macca."  
Paul chewed his lip nervously, his fingers clutching onto John's jumper, waiting. Waiting.  
George raised his eyebrows at John over the top of Paul's head. Trying to indicate Paul was not quite all there at the moment. Mouthing something at him.  
John clicked. He swept his arm around Paul's shoulders and steered him in the direction of the front door.  
"Come on, Ritchie saved a dinner for you. And there's a beer in the fridge..."  
"Are you mad at me?"  
The question came out of the blue. John halted in the small passageway, and gaped at Paul.  
"Mad at you? Why would I be mad at you?"  
"I hit you."  
John tutted. "Love, you were asleep when you did it .. you didn't do it on purpose."  
He pulled Paul to him, smoothing the tangled hair, pressing a swift kiss to the dry lips.  
"How could I be mad at you, eh? That's impossible."  
Paul leant his head on John's shoulder, breathing in the familiar smell.  
He couldn't quite recall everything that had gone on.  
He only knew something had.  
His arms slid around John's waist.  
He felt tired. So tired.  
John felt him slump.  
"Paul? Are you going to sleep on me?"  
An overwhelming drowsiness overtook him and he slithered slowly down, prevented from falling only by John's arms.


	12. Chapter 12

Paul remembered the party.  
But he couldn't recall the events of the previous day, as Ritchie discovered when he found Paul pottering around in the kitchen at seven fifteen in the morning making a cup of tea.  
He was humming happily to himself under his breath as the kettle boiled, and at the sound of Ritchie's footsteps he turned, flashing a smile.   
"Morning, Paul, you're up early" Ritchie commented, trying to ascertain what frame of mind the young man was in after yesterday.  
Paul's smile widened, and he hooked back over his shoulder the Superman t-shirt he wore, which was obviously John's as it kept slipping off his smaller frame.  
"Yeah, I was awake so thought I'd make myself a cuppa .. John's still asleep yet" he added as an afterthought. Then a small frown creased his face. "You're up early too. Where are you goin'?"  
"Work .. I start at eight."  
Paul's frown deepened. "I thought you were off today? Particularly after the party last night .. you must be shattered."  
Horror coursed through Ritchie, and he stared open mouthed at Paul before recovering himself swiftly.  
"It's the twenty eighth today, Paul .. the party was the other night!" As soon as Ritchie spoke, he wished he hadn't. The smile fell from Paul's face and he halted, spoon poised over the top of his mug, looking at Ritchie in disbelief.  
"What?" Paul's eyes were wide, astonished.  
"It's .. er, it's the twenty eighth, Paul. We had the party on Boxing Day." Ritchie scoured his mind. How should he deal with this?   
Paul had stopped still, unsure.  
Ritchie swore he could hear the cogs grinding in Paul's head.  
"Morning, morning .. aren't we all up bright an' early then. What's goin' on, eh?"   
Never had Ritchie been so relieved to hear John's voice. He turned to face him, thankful.  
It was obvious from the stunned silence into which John had walked that something wasn't quite right.  
"John?" It was Paul's voice. He threw him a beaming smile.  
"Yes, love?"  
"What's the date today?"  
John glanced at Ritchie who looked in a state of shock.  
"The twenty eighth .. all day. Why?"  
Paul let the spoon slip into the mug. "What happened to yesterday?" He sounded quite urgent, desperation crinkling the edges of his words.  
John thought swiftly. So swiftly he was sure he'd let slip a blooper. "We slept. Remember? Well .. you probably don't, actually, 'cos sleeping is something one doesn't tend to remember doing, does one." He was blabbing now, and could tell by the furrowed brow Paul was trying to follow his words. "But there y' go. We went late .. VERY late to bed an' sort of slept yesterday away. At least, I don't remember you waking, an' I just got up and had a drink an' came back to bed, which is why, I guess, we're all up so bright an' early this morning, yeah?"  
John was aware of two gobsmacked faces staring at him. Well .. that was the best he could do. He rubbed his hands.  
"More to the point .. what are we goin' to do today? Hey .. you makin' me a cuppa too?"  
Paul started, and grabbed another mug from the cupboard, popping the kettle back on to boil.   
Ritchie began making his way to the door. He raised his eyebrows at John, and John nodded his head, following him.  
"He's forgotten yesterday" Ritchie said in a theatrical whisper.  
"Sssshh! Not too loud. Yeah, okay .. maybe not a bad thing. I'll see if I can distract him through the day, keep him busy so he doesn't think too much."  
Ritchie's eyes were wide, staring almost. "What if he suddenly remembers?"  
John shrugged uncomfortably. "Dunno. I'll have to cope."  
"But then he'll know you've lied to him."  
"Bloody hell, thanks, Ritch. What else was I supposed to do."  
"John" they heard Paul's voice call from the kitchen "Tea's ready."  
"Okay. Coming." John raised his voice to be heard then turned back to Ritchie. "I'm not gonna tell him, an' I don't want him worryin'. Okay?"  
Ritchie nodded as he wound a scarf round his neck. "Okay." He chewed his lip worriedly. "Okay. Hope all goes alright. I'll, er, see you later."  
"Yeah. Sure. Me an' Paul'll make tea for us tonight .. it'll give him something to do."

Walking back into the kitchen to see Paul standing at the counter stirring a mug of tea, John captured him, stealing his arms around him. Paul squirmed round, a smile on his face, looking so flushed and inviting John couldn't help but steal a kiss too. And another. Paul's lips were moist and inviting and John felt himself hardening at the contact. He gripped tightly onto Paul and hefted him up onto the kitchen counter, nearly knocking the mug flying in the process.   
"John...mmphh" John captured Paul's lips again, and settled himself between Paul's thighs .. which were bare ... mmm .. bare .. and enticing .. John ran his fingers up and down them while deepening the kiss. His fingers accidentally slipped inside the boxers Paul had on .. which, John noted vaguely, were actually his .. along with the t-shirt. Did Paul have a fetish about wearing his clothes? John wondered. He could feel the tip of Paul's dick, velvety soft and wet against his thumb, and heard Paul moan deep in his throat as he swiped his thumb gently across the top.  
He whispered into the dark hair "You like that, hmm?" and Paul's fingers wound themselves around the back of John's head, effectively keeping him there. John explored every inch of Paul's body, slipping fingers under the t-shirt and up ticklish ribs, tangling them in the dark hair, running them from Paul's ankles up to his thighs, touching, feeling. John could have got lost in him. He was so soft, and supple, and .. squeezable. "You're so squeezable" he breathed into Paul's ear. "I just want to squeeze you." He slipped his hand back into the boxers and gave Paul's shaft some gentle pressure. With a cry of pleasure Paul involuntarily bucked into his hand, almost slipping off the counter in the process.  
"Whoops" John caught him, and lifted him back off. Paul wrapped his legs around John's waist and with muffled giggles John carried him into the parlour where he unceremoniously dropped him on the settee.  
Once he had Paul there he wasted no time before the boxers were pulled off and Paul's erection sprang free, demanding attention. John ducked his head and swiped the tip with his tongue, curling it round the velvety smoothness, his nostrils invaded by the musky smell of Paul's pubic hair.  
"Oh God John" Paul wound his fingers into John's hair to keep him there. Grinning to himself John obliged, swiping a long saliva trail up the silky shaft, hearing Paul moan. He loved to hear Paul moan, especially when he reached the low growl that always surprised John when it happened. Taking a deep breath, John took as much of Paul in in one go as he could, and Paul bucked his hips in a transport of delight. John pulled off for a moment to get his breath, and rubbed Paul's arms.  
"Hang on, give me chance. Slowly does it .. "  
Paul shook his head, a wicked glint in his eyes. "Mm hmm .. faster I think Johnny."  
John rolled his eyes. "Okay. You want fast ... "  
Next moment he'd taken Paul down the back of his throat, hollowing out his cheeks and breathing through his nose as he bobbed rapidly up and down. Keeping such a pace going was hard work and his jaw muscles began to ache after a few minutes but he couldn't have moved if he'd tried as Paul's hands kept him firmly in position. He could feel Paul's fingers gripping his skull, tangling in his hair, and hear moans of delight and then .. yes, there it was .. that low growl. Keeping his hands on Paul's thighs he could feel the tension in the top of Paul's legs and the tightening of stomach muscles that meant ..  
Paul bucked his hips, letting loose a torrent of words that sounded like 'fuckjohnyeahohfuckmmmoh' as his orgasm peaked.  
John swallowed as fast as he could, refusing to let go until Paul collapsed, limp against him. John heaved a sigh and swiped his hand across his mouth. Shame about the flavour, he thought. Now if we could order it .. "I'll have Stella Artois cum today please." John chuckled to himself, and Paul looked across at him from where he lay, spent and spreadeagled on the settee.  
"Okay?"  
John beamed at him. "I'm fine, love, but ..." he indicated his own needy member, and Paul smiled. It was that devilish smile that John loved. That dark eyed "I have something up my sleeve" kinda smile. As John's brain slowly turned to mush under Paul's deft administrations he remembered wondering how Paul had picked up such skills that were worthy of exclusive artisans. Later, lying in a tangle of arms and legs and sweaty bodies and not much else, Paul gave a sudden jolt.  
"The tea!"   
John slipped heavily to one side, almost falling off. "Bloody hell, Paul, what was that for?"  
"The tea'll be stewed. I made it ages ago."  
John caught him round the wrist, pulling him back down.  
"Bugger the tea" he peppered Paul's face and neck with tiny kisses "Come on, stay with me. I want you."  
Paul's eyes darkened at the command and he instantly snuggled back down again.

Ritchie unlocked the front door and was greeted with the smell of food cooking. Well, at least one thing had gone as planned then. He unwound his scarf from his neck and hung his coat in the closet, his ears catching the sound of a guitar being played upstairs in John and Paul's room. Kicking his shoes up a corner, he went in stockinged feet to the kitchen and found John cheerily stirring what looked like a pot of stew. He turned with a disarming grin to Ritchie.  
"Hiya mate. Had a good day?"  
Ritchie breathed a sigh of relief. "Everything okay, then?"  
John's smile held. "Yup. We've had fantastic sex on every surface in the house we could find and Paul cleaned it all down after ..." John paused, spoon in hand, and raised his eyebrows at Ritchie's dumbstruck expression .." you think I'm joking don't you?"  
Ritchie wasn't sure what to think.  
"Too much information there" he chided John, then leaned over, inspecting the pot. "What we having then?"  
"Scouse ... thought it was time we had a traditional Christmas chuck in everything that's left meal. What d'you reckon?"  
"Smells good. I'll be ready for that soon. How's Paul been? No problems?"  
John seemed totally unconcerned and extremely cheerful ... maybe they had spent the day having sex?  
"Nah, he's fine."  
Ritchie flipped the kettle on, and rummaged in the cupboard for a mug, his voice muffled as he carried on talking.  
"I was chatting to this young medic student today."  
"Oh yeah?"  
"Mmm. Didn't mention Paul specifically but I said I knew someone who seemed to suffer from memory lapses and did he know much about why this might happen. Turns out he's studying this sort of area .. well, actually, he's specialising in research on epilepsy, and he knew about petit mal lapses that George has been on about." Ritchie added the boiling water to the tea bag, then couldn't find the sugar because Paul had tidied up. After a further rummage in the back of the cupboard it was located along with the jam and honey. Ritchie frowned, trying to analyse Paul's storing criteria, then shook his head and carried on talking. "His names Dan and he said that a petit mal is a very short absence .. he called it an absence ... that doesn't last longer than a few seconds. He said there is a grand mal as well which lasts longer ..."  
John looked at him open mouthed. "Fuckin' hell ... how many 'mals' do they have then? Is there a major mal and a superior mal an' that?"  
Grinning, Ritchie shook his head. "Nah .. just those two, but he said any longer and it could be a sign of epilepsy 'cos there's different sorts, but when I said it seemed Paul .. well, I didn't say his name, obviously .. just said someone I know .. could actually lose a whole day he seemed a bit flummoxed. He said is he in control of his senses during an episode an' I said yes .."  
John, stirring the stew, was listening intently now. "Well, yeah, he is. He might not remember much about what he's done but he's functioning, an' that. Although ..." John paused, the spoon dripping " ...'ave you noticed he's often really tired after an' sort of sleeps it off."  
Ritchie nodded. "Yeah, now you mention it, but I forgot to say that. Anyway .. so Dan said if you're talking about a whole day's absence or maybe even more that it's probably got a root cause, like some kind of trauma, and if triggered by stress it's like the brain switches off in order to cope."  
John was gazing at Ritchie open mouthed by now, all thoughts of stirring forgotten. "Bloody hell! That fits the bill, doesn't it?"  
Ritchie nodded in agreement, delighted that his long lunchtime conversation with Dan had been profitable.  
"So?"  
Ritchie frowned. "So what?"  
"So what's the cure? Did he say?"  
"Oh. Well .. not really. It's a mental thing, I think. He said that Paul would need to see someone that specialised in post traumatic stress syndrome and take it from there."  
John turned back to stirring. "You mean like a shrink?"  
Ritchie shrugged. "Dunno, John."  
"Cause he ain't gonna talk to anyone about what's gone on in his life, is he? You know that as well as me. So ... ergo ... we live with him as he is? Is that the conclusion?"  
Ritchie took a sip of his tea, thinking, trying to recall everything that had been said to him. "Well ... I guess." he finally answered slowly.  
John nodded, his eyes thoughtful. "Well, good try anyway, Ritch. At least we have an idea now .. not that we didn't before, mind .. but at least I guess we know Paul isn't some kind of odd case then. That things like this do happen."  
"I guess we just have to try not to let him get stressed."  
John rolled his eyes. "Oh yeah, as easy as that, eh?"  
"Hiya Ritchie, didn't hear you come back." They both leapt at the sound of Paul's voice.  
John's face flooded red. "Bloody hell, Paul .. can't you make more noise when you come into a room?"  
Paul looked puzzled for a moment, unsure if John was maybe joking.  
John was panicking. Christ, had he overheard something again? But Paul looked relaxed ... if slightly confused.  
"Sorry?" It was a query.  
John waved the spoon in the air, flicking splatters of gravy around.  
"S'okay .. you just scared the bejesus out of me arriving so quietly like that. Here, get us some plates out the cupboard .. can't find a bloody thing since you tidied up."  
Paul pulled a face at Ritchie, who winked back solemnly with a twinkle in his eye.  
"Why's the sugar with the jam and honey, Paul?" he asked, hiding a smile.  
Paul paused for a moment, thinking. "Oh .. 'cos it's sweet" he explained.  
Ritchie shrugged in amusement. "Figures, I guess."  
"Where do you usually keep it?" Paul asked.  
"With the tea and coffee 'cos that's when we use it."  
"Oh. Oh, right."  
"It's okay, though, Paul .. I can go with your way of thinking."  
Paul flashed a toothy smile at Ritchie.  
"Oy, chatterbox, where're those plates? Or are we eating out of our hands?" John reminded him.   
Paul opened a cupboard door, scanned the contents, then closed it again, a thoughtful look on his face. Then he ducked down and opened a different cupboard .. after a moment he closed that door too, and stood chewing his lip.   
John threw an amused glance at Ritchie. He didn't say anything though, just kept stirring. A smile was tugging at the corner of his mouth.  
"Okay .. it's ready." He announced.  
Paul darted to yet another cupboard, and the noise of a few pieces of crockery being moved could be heard. Still he emerged empty handed with a worried look on his face.  
"John?"  
"Yes Paul?"  
There was a slight pause, then "I can't remember where I put the plates."  
John shook his head, laughter bubbling up. "Fucking hell, mate, you've got to stop tidying up. Here .. you put 'em in here. Good job I can remember, innit?"  
"Is that what you've been doing all day?" Ritchie asked "Tidying up?"  
"It keeps him out of mischief" John muttered, retrieving the plates from a wall cupboard.  
"Oh! I thought you'd been having sex all day."  
John burst out laughing and Paul turned bright red.   
"Not quite, Ritch. Just pulling your leg, mate. No ... Mr OCD here thought he'd clean the kitchen .. which involved doing all the cupboards, so if you can't find anything you know who to blame."  
Ritchie smiled sympathetically at a squirming embarrassed Paul. "Thanks mate, it was well overdue."  
"Right .. Paul .. trays .. now ... an' don't say you've tidied them away too!" John began dishing out helpings of the scouse, and Paul disappeared to fetch the trays from the parlour.  
"Has he been cleaning the kitchen then?" Ritchie enquired.  
"Jesus, yeah. He's had every cupboard emptied and washed 'em all out." John merrily dolloped out another helping of the stew. "You'll not find anything now, I warn you, 'cos he'll not remember where he's put anything."

After tea Paul had disappeared upstairs and the sound of a guitar being played drifted down the stairs.  
John and Ritchie sat nursing a beer, a television drama flickering away in the corner, unwatched and unnoticed.  
"So .. this guy .. this Dan ... did he offer any more information about what happens to Paul or how common it is?" John asked.  
Ritchie thought back. Dan had said a lot of things ... and the conversation had been littered with the names of different medications for the treatment of epilepsy too.  
"Well, he didn't say how common it was, but he's obviously come across it. He said it's prevalent in war-torn countries where people have undergone traumas and torture and their mind blocks things out .. that soldiers that have been captured and had horrific things done to 'em might have these mental blockages."  
"Mental blockage? Is that what it is?"  
Ritchie shrugged. "Not sure. I mean, he does forget things, doesn't he?"  
John snorted into his beer. "Yeah, like where he stashed the plates, you mean? That was funny. I knew he'd forgotten."  
Ritchie remained serious though. "Yeah, like that."  
John stopped laughing and looked at Ritchie. "You mean that's all part of it?"  
Ritchie shrugged. "Could be."  
"So .. is he always gonna be like this?" John asked the question not sure if he wanted to hear the answer or not.  
"Didn't ask. Dan did say a big issue is to try and avoid stress .. anything that triggers unhappy memories or makes him worry. That would set it off."  
John digested the information quietly. "Hmm .. so .. the other day, then .. could it have been a worry over where we'd live, do you think?"  
Ritchie gave a sidelong glance at John. He didn't want to make John feel guilty, but he had a different opinion.  
He sipped from his beer, pondering. Did he say .. should he say? He felt John's eyes on him.  
"Go on, Ritch, spit it out. What do you think?"  
Ritchie sighed. "I don't wanna say this, John, but I think the stress was caused by what he overheard you say."  
A pang of guilt shot through John. "Fuck!"  
He stared at Ritchie through his dark rimmed glasses. "I didn't mean to upset him. He woke up in a tizzy anyway .. he'd been havin' a fuckin' awful nightmare. I bloody know what about too, what's more. Luke Stanton has a lot to answer for."  
They sat companiably drinking, each lost in their own thoughts.  
"George takes him in his stride, though, doesn't he?"  
Ritchie started. He'd been miles away. "Paul? Yeah. George seems to take everything in his stride. Never makes a big thing of anything."  
"He said when he first took Paul in that Paul slept for two weeks. Two weeks, Ritch! Now that is a long bloody absence or whatever that chap of yours was calling it."  
Ritchie gave a rueful smile. "Yeah, it is, isn't it."  
"So .. do I take the risk?"  
Ritchie frowned. Was there something he'd missed here? "Risk?"  
"Y'know .. moving into somewhere on our two own."  
"Bloody hell, John, don't even think about it yet. I'm not gettin' married yet. Haven't set a date, an' like I said it don't matter to me if you're around, an' I know Lottie'll say the same."  
"Hmm. I'd like to, eventually, though. If I can put up with him. He'll be a nightmare, won't he, continually clearing up and tidying."  
"Ah well he can be the wife in your relationship."  
"Oooh .. bit sexist there, Ritch. Don't say that to Lottie."  
Ritchie gave a half smile; a plan had begun forming in his head. "Have you ever thought of making a list?"  
Now it was John's turn to look confused. "A list? What for?"  
"Of the times Paul switches off ... absents himself, so to speak. See if there's a pattern. If there's anything you can think of that might trigger an episode, so you know what to avoid."  
John went to dismiss the idea out of hand, then hesitated. In retrospect "That's a bloody good idea Ritch. Why did I not think of that? That's fuckin' awesome, mate."  
Ritchie grinned, a wide smile, pleased to have been of help.  
"A list, yeah" John was away now "That's what I'll do .. an' keep it somewhere he can't see it or find it. I mean .. it won't cure him, but at least I'll know what to avoid."  
John hummed to himself for a moment, thinking. Suddenly it seemed a daunting task. "Where do I start?"  
"His latest episode I guess."  
"Hmm ... right. Well that was 'cos he heard me say I wasn't sure I could manage him on me own."  
"More like you were at your wit's end with him."  
John pulled a face. "Yeah. Right. So ... first on me list think before I speak."  
Ritchie looked at him sympathetically. John always .. ALWAYS .. blurted out whatever was in his mind. This wouldn't be an easy task for him.  
"Thing is, John, Paul thinks the world of you. Any hint or suggestion that you've had enough and he'd probably flip."  
"Hang on here a minute, Ritch .. I happen to think the world of him too. I'm not planning on abandoning him. It's just that he's hard work sometimes. When he's okay he's great .. he's funny, though he doesn't know he is, the things he comes out with, and I love his company. He has an odd way of looking at things sometimes .. doesn't exactly see the world like I do, but I guess the fact that we're not the same about everything is good. I know what George means, though, about stepping on eggshells .. trying to be one jump ahead of him all the time can be tough."  
"I think you've got more adept at that, though, yeah?"  
John nodded thoughtfully. "Yeah. I think so. I feel more sure when I'm with him now."  
John smoothed his fingers over the note in his pocket that Mark had left in the shop a few weeks ago. John had been tempted to ring him and ask just what had gone on with Paul, but never quite taken the step. It seemed wrong. As if he didn't trust Paul. He knew Paul had given him a very sketchy tale about his life with Luke, but he'd probably been as open with John as he felt he could. He knew Paul was still struggling to turn his back on everything that had happened. And, John thought to himself with a sigh, probably always would be.  
"So" Ritchie prompted "How are you gonna do this list then?"


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the comments ... I love reading them. Just a bit of a filler chapter here,

John's list got no further than 'think before you speak' ... and he figured that was pretty rubbish anyway. How was he ever gonna do that? 'Make a list' Ritchie had said. In theory a good idea .. practically .. no way. John wracked his brains. He ought to be able to, if he thought about it. It sounded simple enough. And logical. Well, maybe he wasn't logical. Come to that, maybe Paul wasn't either.  
In the corner the telly flickered away, sound turned down, subtitiles on. Ritchie had fallen to sleep, mouth wide open, gentle snores emitting. John looked at him fondly. Poor bugger. He worked so hard. It was great that he was marrying Lottie. Ritchie deserved his chance of happiness. John smiled to himself .. in a few years there'd be miniature Ritchie's running around the place all with big blue eyes. And Ritchie'd make a great dad, of that John was sure. And what would have become of him and Paul by then?  
John's heart gave a lurch. If he looked into the future for them it was frighteningly, scarily empty. How could he visualise a future for Ritchie but not for him and Paul?  
Was it because Paul wasn't going to be around?  
John's breath caught.  
Now THAT was a scary thought.  
A life without Paul?  
He couldn't imagine it. Didn't want to imagine it.   
Paul was everything to him.  
As if alerted to that scene he listened carefully, aware of silence where once there'd been sound.  
The guitar playing had ceased. All was quiet. How long ago had Paul stopped playing?  
All thoughts of the list forgotten, John hared up the stairs.  
It was such a relief to see Paul sitting there on the bed, the guitar having slipped forgotten from his fingers.  
John realised in that moment that this uncertainty had become a normal part of his life. That worry. The fear that Paul might 'do something'. How on earth could he forestall such action?  
John crossed the small room swiftly and sat on the bed next to Paul, who didn't seem to have noticed him. At least, he hadn't acknowledged him.  
Paul's eyes were distant, clouded, staring at scenes invisible to John. Briefly, John glanced at the wall Paul was staring at, as if the pictures playing in Paul's head may be transmitted to the opposite wall. They weren't, of course.  
"Paul?" Paul jumped. As in REALLY jumped. His eyes widening.  
"Oh .. John. Hi."  
"You were miles away there, mate. Practice all finished?" John indicated the guitar.  
It took Paul a moment to gather his scattered thoughts and he was slow in replying.  
"Er .. yeah. Yeah, I have. I was just working out .. erm .. working out .." Paul searched his memory. What had he been working out? He looked down at his guitar as if it might enlighten him. For the life of him he couldn't remember.   
"Must have been a good working out" John joked, easing the situation.  
Paul smiled gratefully at him. He was only too aware of the fact that he tended to 'slip' out of time and forget things. It was a trait he'd tried to hide from John to begin with, thinking John would find it strange or weak in some way. Now Paul felt much more confident about revealing his true colours to John.   
Paul gave a rueful smile "I forgot" he admitted.  
It occurred to John that Paul, when working at the shop or teaching, was always very focused and on the ball. It was as if, when fully involved, his mind wasn't presented with opportunities to wander. Maybe that was worth remembering. John wasn't sure why, yet, but he filed the thought away. Important to keep him busy and fully occupied mentally and physically.  
"Ritchie's fallen asleep. I couldn't hear you playing an' I thought maybe you'd dropped off too."  
Paul's smile widened "No, not without you."  
It was so simply said it warmed John's heart.  
"All that cleaning tired you out, eh?"  
Paul rested his head on John's shoulder, and John hugged him tightly.   
Tick off another day. Everything's okay. We're still here.

Probably because they were not at work John found himself quite wakeful through the night, although Paul had fallen asleep as quickly as he usually did, starting off with his head on John's chest, then slowly sliding off to land underneath John's armpit. It did occur to John that there were probably nicer places for Paul to sleep in than under his armpit, but he certainly wasn't going to disturb him.   
Therefore when the familiar murmurings of a nightmare began John was still awake enough to rouse Paul, who blinked sleepily at him, not knowing why he'd received a poke in the ribs, and promptly fell asleep again. John, however, was wide awake now. How often did this happen through a night? It had become routine with both of them ... Paul having the beginnings of a nightmare, John waking him, and them both going back to sleep. John was so used to their system that it hadn't occurred to him before how frequently it took place. He glanced at the alarm clock ... just turned midnight. So that was once. He made a note on his phone .. simply registered the time. No-one, coming across it, would know what it was about otherwise.   
He must have dozed, though only lightly. It was Paul talking that woke him this time. Although he listened, none of the words made sense. But there was certainly a hint of distress in them. He gave Paul a nudge and the whispering ceased, falling after a few minutes to a steady even breathing. John made a note of the time .. ten minutes to two.  
He was woken at quarter to three when one of Paul's arms, flailing around, hit him square on his nose. He captured the windmilling limbs and shook Paul to pull him out of his nightmare. It was harder to wake him this time, but John did succeed, and found Paul gazing at him with huge tired eyes, puzzled as to why he'd been shaken awake.  
"You were dreaming" John explained.  
Paul's lips framed the word "Oh" before his lids closed and he was gone again.  
Twenty to four. Ten past five. Quarter past six.  
John made a note on his phone of every incident.  
Six times.  
Was this what happened each night?  
He considered the fact it possibly was. It's just that normally he was too tired other than to nudge Paul awake before drifting back off to sleep himself.  
By the time he could hear Ritchie moving around at just after seven John was knackered. Paul, of course, was still fast asleep. It was fortunate the shop wasn't open that day. He'd have been far too tired to be polite to customers.   
John slipped quietly out of the bed, heard Paul murmur something that sounded suspiciously like 'Johnny', paused to make sure he'd not disturbed him, then tying his dressing gown round him made his way downstairs.  
In the brightness of the kitchen light Ritchie's eyes were big with surprise.  
"Up early, John. Not workin' are y'?"  
John shook his head, and turned the display screen of his phone towards Ritchie.  
"I thought I'd record how many times in a night Paul has nightmares .. not for any particular reason, just curious, like .. an' 'ere y' go."  
Ritchie's eyes widened even more. "Fuckin' hell. Does he ever get any rest?"  
John snorted "Does he ever get any? What about me?"  
"Sorry, sorry, yeah, you too. Of course it must affect you. Did you have to wake him every time?"  
John shrugged as he put his phone in his pocket. "It doesn't take much to wake him most of the time ... it's only if he's really deeply asleep I have to shake him to get him out. Most times a well-aimed kick does the job."  
John saw Ritchie's look of shock.  
"Nah, I'm joking. I just poke him in the ribs an' he stops. I don't think he knows half the time .. carries on sleeping, like. An' I'm so used to it by now I do too."  
Ritchie slowly stirred sugar into his tea. "Can't do him any good, though, can it ... or you, come to that" he amended. "I mean, you're both getting broken sleep. Is this every night?"  
John nodded confirmation. "Yup, every night."  
"That many times?"  
"Probably. I've never made a note of it before."  
"Soooo ... " Ritchie stirred, thinking " ..now you have, what you gonna do with the information?"  
John shrugged again. "Nothin'. Well, nothin' yet. Just thought it might be useful to have."  
Their heads turned as Paul's voice called John.  
"In here" John responded, and Paul entered the kitchen, barefoot and tousled, with John's t-shirt from the previous day hastily dragged on. John noted that fact with amusement. One night he was going to put all his clothes away so Paul had nothing at hand to quickly drag on and see what he did then. Hmm .. hopefully, John mused, walk around butt naked.  
Paul beamed brightly at them both.  
"I woke up and you'd gone" he explained to John and the room in general.  
"Yup .. it's called getting up in a morning, kid."  
"Can I have a cuppa?" John's sarcastic comment had sailed over the top of Paul's head.  
"Of course y' can Paul" Ritchie reached down and retrieved a mug from the cupboard and stuck a tea bag in it. "So .. what are you two up to today then?"  
"Paul's goin' to clean the rest of your house" John quipped.  
Paul looked at him wide-eyed. "Am I?"   
Had he made that offer yesterday and forgotten?  
"Nah .. I'm kidding. We .. "John pulled Paul tightly against him "are goin' to catch up on Game of Thrones an' Paul is goin' to tell me everything that's happened whenever I get lost .. which will be frequently."  
"Ah .. you're not goin' to clean the house then?" Ritchie looked disappointed.   
Paul squirmed out of John's grasp. "Oh, I don't mind doing it, Ritchie. Honest. We can always watch Game of Thrones later."  
"Sneak" John hissed jokingly. 

Three hours later, the house vacuumed and dusted, John lay on the settee with his head in Paul's lap while Paul stroked his fingers through the messed up auburn tresses messing them up even more. John LOVED it when Paul did that. It sent tiny tremors from the tip of John's head all the way down to his toes. In order to keep his restless boyfriend in one place he kept asking Paul nonsensical questions about the series they were watching.  
"So .. that one, then .. is she a Lannister?"  
He felt Paul sigh. "No, John, but her grand-daughter married one .. she's from High Garden."  
"Well, which one copped it then?"  
"That's the one that came from that place in the south ... what's it called? .. where you have the Sand sisters."  
John didn't give a fiddler's dick who it was .. he just didn't want Paul to move. He loved to feel those long thin fingers reaching down into the roots of his hair, the calloused tips providing a gentle scratching sensation. He let out a moan of appreciation, much louder than he'd intended, and Paul paused, amused.  
"Enjoyin' it then?"  
"Ohhh ... don't stop, Paulie."  
Paul hid a smile as he recommenced his massaging. "You should have been a cat. You'd make a good cat. A marmalade one."  
"Hmm." John's eyes were closed in sheer bliss. "Maybe we should get one."  
Paul's eyebrows shot up "What? A cat?" But ... what would Ritchie say?"  
"No, you stupid bugger, when we've got our own place."  
Paul's fingers slowed their pace a little. John shifted his head to remind him what he was doing, and Paul sped up again.  
"What do you think?" John prompted.  
"What about? Getting our own place or getting a cat?"  
"Both."  
"I'd like a dog."  
Well .. well, THAT was a surprise. John twisted round to look up at Paul, just to see if he was joking. He didn't LOOK like he was joking. In fact he looked quite serious.  
John lay back down and Paul took up his steady massage again.  
"Okay. You can have a dog. An' I'll have a cat."  
"What if they chase each other?"  
"They won't. We'll teach them to love each other. Otherwise the dog'll have to stay outside."  
Paul stopped. "What? You're not putting my dog out. Your cat'll have to go out. Anyway, that's what cats do, innit. They stay outside."  
John heaved a sigh. "Tell you what, let's have a bloody budgerigar instead."  
Paul's fingers started kneading again. "I really want a dog," he muttered. "I've always wanted a dog."  
John twisted round and pulled Paul down with him, gripping on tightly lest he slip off the settee.  
"Paul, you can have a bloody dog. I'll buy you a whole brood if that's what you want."  
Paul's eyes sparkled merrily back at John. "Really?"  
"Really, yeah. As long as I can have a cat."  
There was a pause, then  
"So ... we're gonna get our own place then?" Paul's voice had gone quieter. His eyes were scanning John's face.  
Alarm bells rang. Something cautioned John to watch his words.  
"Yup. You an' me. Just us two. You up for that?"  
Paul chewed his lip anxiously. "You won't get fed up of me?"  
Where had that come from? John frowned.  
"Fed up of you? I'll never get fed up of you. Why d'you think that?"  
Paul's face gave a little twitch. "Because ..."  
John waited for more but more never came.  
On the television screen the drama was playing out, unheeded.  
John struggled to sit up, which wasn't easy as he also refused to let go of Paul.  
"Because what Paul?" Fuck! He hadn't meant to sound so domineering. He saw Paul flinch, then a shield come up.   
He could have kicked himself. He tugged Paul into his lap, and noted the resistance with which Paul let himself be moved, his body suddenly stiff and awkward.  
John lowered his voice. Made it more gentle. "Because what, love?"  
Paul's face tucked itself into John's shoulder and his breath was moist through John's t-shirt as he muttered "Because Luke got fed up of me after a while. I'm rubbish at things. I'm not any good."  
Anger rose in John, and now he was trying to prise Paul off him, but the reverse had happened and Paul was clinging to John's shoulder.  
"For Christ sake, Paul .. just forget the bloody guy. He's not worth a hundred of you. Whatever he told you, whatever he said, it's all a big plate of lies. You listenin' to me? Just lies."  
He saw Paul's head nod, but didn't reckon he'd been taken heed of.  
John tried to work out .. how long had Paul lived with Luke Stanton? Was it about two years? Could be .. could be more. About two and a half?  
And everything had been okay to begin with.  
John guessed he had to understand Paul's doubts.  
If everything had gone pear-shaped once for him who was there to say it wouldn't happen again?

The idea of them getting their own place had taken a firm root in John's mind, though. Where this place was he didn't know. But it had a comfortable roomy bedroom ... so far they'd had to double up together in a space meant for one. It would have lots of storage space so Paul could organise everything neatly. It would have a well-fitted kitchen so they could practice cooking. And a spacious lounge so they could have friends round. Oh .. and maybe a spare room for Paul for all his music ... and maybe a piano?   
Then it would come back down to money. They most definitely wouldn't be able to afford very much.   
And Paul. And ... Paul.   
John heaved a sigh. How would he be with Paul ... on his own ... just the two of them. Would it work? Or would he find managing Paul just too much?  
Being at Ritchie's, with it's constant stream of visitors like Lottie and George, did ease the pressure.  
Pressure? Where had that word come from? John rolled it round his tongue.  
The pressure of saying and doing the right things. All the time. Knowing that the slightest action or word could be misconstrued.  
Paul was, in so many ways, still an unknown personality to John. He was complex. Like a Russian Doll, peeling off layer after layer, yet never reaching the inner person.  
For all his gentle appearance he knew Paul had a will of iron .. he was stubborn and unbendable over certain things .. not the malleable guy he often came over as. He was also a perfectionist to the nth degree. Which could drive one round the bend. So .. those were the cons. The pros? He was absolutely fucking gorgeous. His face, his body. John could stare at him all day and never get fed up. He was funny in a quirky way, and endlessly entertaining with his non-stop talking. Well, babble, really.  
And he loved him.  
End of story.

Paul had his usual duty as part of his sentence at the rehab clinic on that Thursday afternoon. Some things didn't stop for the Christmas holidays. Paul had grabbed a quick sandwich and gone to get the bus. John had been tempted to travel with him but the clinic was out of town, not much around there to see or do, and it wasn't a particularly nice day. The wind was blowing really hard, bringing with it shards of ice that hit faces like little pins. Paul borrowed one of John's hat and scarf sets, looking completely muffled up. Before he left John had jokingly pulled the hat right down over Paul's eyes and then sneaked a quick peck on his lips. Paul had batted him away, chuckling, effectively blindfolded. John had waved him bye bye as he darted down the road and round the corner in the direction of the bus stop.  
The house suddenly felt strangely empty.   
John wandered upstairs and picked up the guitar that lay on the bed. He turned it around so it fitted his right handed way of playing and, following a few chords and finger picking patterns Paul had written down produced a melodic and, to his surprise, recognisable tune. He started drifting through the songs that Paul had collated, all written in his neat script. He had some real gems here. And some that John didn't recognise too. He made a mental note to ask him about them.  
He put the guitar back down on the bed and began to tidy the room. He smiled to himself. Must be bored if he was doing this. There was a pile of clean washing, a mixture of their clothes, socks, pants, t-shirts and shirts. A pair of jeans of Paul's. John started folding everything and placing it into the drawers.   
It was a pair of socks that did it. They wouldn't fit properly into the bottom drawer of the dresser, which was Paul's drawer. With an exclamation of annoyance John reached towards the back of the drawer to find what was impeding them and his fingers touched the edge of something. Wondering, he tightened his grip and drew it out, a frown creasing his face. It was a small notebook, the kind that spelling exercises would have been written in in school. Nothing on the cover.  
He flipped it open, rifling the pages, to see Paul's writing.  
He closed it swiftly, his heart hammering. He'd never seen Paul write in anything. Ever. Period.  
This was private. It had obviously been hidden. And it had to be fairly old. It was dog-eared and tattered anyway, but more than that it couldn't have been purchased in the last few months because Paul wasn't in a position to go out and buy things. And prior to that he'd been in hospital. Before that living with George .. before that with Luke.  
How old was this book?  
John turned to the pages that had last been written in. There was no date, and it obviously wasn't a diary, but it did seem to be some kind of record of events. The last thing Paul had written, in bright red pen, was 'Book for John for Christmas'. He'd drawn a smiley face after it, and that in turn caused John to smile.   
Turning back a page John was surprised to see a sketch of the tag Paul wore around his ankle. It was a perfect copy of the object, and there were a few words written by it .. the words were disjointed, as if Paul had been pouring his feelings out. He could read, in small scribble 'not my fault', 'ashamed' and 'hate it hate it hate it', and similar jargon. John swallowed. Maybe this was getting too personal? The writing at the top of the page was upside down, and John turned the book around. The sentence was perfectly clear, although the writing was tiny, crammed in to a small space. 'John fetched me. Home to Ritchie's. I don't know if he still wants me. I'm scared.'   
John's heart thumped loudly. Paul must have written that the day he had fetched him back. Yes, John could recall only too well how unsure he'd been around Paul. He felt such a pang of guilt. The poor kid must have gone through hell with worry. He closed the book, and slipped it back where it was. Yes, he was curious. It would be ridiculous to say he wasn't. He'd had no idea Paul kept a kind of .. memoir? Was that what it was? He knew he couldn't honestly say he'd not look at it again. It was tempting. Would it hold anything in it about Luke?   
John lay the socks over it, and, after a moment's thought, put some more over so it wouldn't look as if it had been disturbed. His fingers twitched, but he resisted the temptation. Everyone needed some privacy.

Paul and Ritchie both arrived back within minutes of each other, their faces red and cold from the freezing wind.  
"Too cold for snow" Ritchie muttered, rubbing his hands together.  
Paul unwound the long scarf and pulled the hat off his head, handing them to John with fingers that were icy cold. He was visibly shivering, although his eyes glowed warmly.  
"What you been doing all day then?" he asked John.  
John felt a start of guilt and colour rushed to his cheeks. Paul looked at him curiously.  
"Tidyin' up" he muttered.  
Paul raised an eyebrow. "Really?"  
"Oh, an' playin' your guitar. You left some music out on the bed."  
Paul stuck his head out of the closet where he was hanging his coat. "Oh, yeah, sorry."  
"S'okay. I enjoyed it. Didn't recognise everything though."  
"No, you wouldn't. Some's me own."  
John's mouth dropped open. If Paul had suddenly announced he'd grown wings and could fly John wouldn't have been more surprised.  
"Your own? As in .. written, like?"  
Paul looked quite amused. "Yeah."  
"But .. but .. I didn't know you could do that!"  
John heard Ritchie chuckle. "Never heard him going round hummin' then when he's doin' it?"  
John switched to look agape at Ritchie. "You knew?"  
Ritchie nodded sagely. "Oh yeah. Known for a long time Paul writes his own."  
"Well .. bugger me."


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John reads the notebook

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So ... ambiguous references to sexual abuse ... only inferred though, but don't like, don't read.

The shop re-opened in the New Year, the weather bitterly cold with fleeting snow and layers of ice covering everything. It all seemed very quiet after the bustle of Christmas. While John sorted the stock Paul took down the Christmas decorations and packed them away tidily into a cardboard box that he'd written 'Christmas decorations' on in a red felt tip pen.   
John hated the slump of post Christmas, post New Year. He couldn't help it. The weather was miserable, January was always cold and February was always bleak. He struggled to energise himself, wanting only to curl up beside a warm fire with a good book and a hot chocolate. Maybe, he mused to himself, Paul was right and he had been a cat in a previous life. He watched his boyfriend meticulously packing the decorations away, the tip of a pink tongue showing as Paul considered the best way of storing an unwieldy garland. Feeling John's eyes upon him, Paul glanced up, a smile lighting up his face. John had to respond. No matter how grouchy he was feeling, he just had to respond.

Rob had popped down into the shop to present Paul with a bottle of wine as a thank you.  
Paul had looked at him bemused.  
"For doing the books so well" Rob had explained "You've cut our accountant's bill by about a third. He said he's never seen the accounts so well organised."  
Paul had coloured and stammered his thanks, then been even more embarrassed when Rob had pulled him into a hug. John had simply folded his arms and watched in amusement. Following the gift, Rob had then proceeded to hand Paul a list of enquiries for guitar lessons ... it appeared lots of youngsters had received guitars as presents, and Paul was inundated with new pupils.  
His eyes wide, he scanned the list. "But .. I'm not ... I can't fit all these in. At least, not yet"  
"Add them to your waiting list, Paul. It's good for business, and one day soon you'll be able to take them," was Rob's advice.

A couple of days later, John's lethargy showed it's cause as he went down with a heavy cold. To his delight he discovered what a wonderful nurse Paul made. He was wrapped in cotton wool and enveloped in love. John began to think he should be ill more often. Paul nursed him all over the weekend and when he returned to work on Monday to run the shop with some assistance from Rob, he made sure that John was left with lots of orange juice to drink and a tin of soup already opened and placed on the stove waiting to be warmed, a pile of blankets and a good novel to hand. John spent the day feeling sorry for himself and missing Paul's company, his nose red and sore from being continually wiped. Although .. he had to admit, albeit not to Paul .. that he was feeling a little better. His ear was tuned to the sound of a key in the lock announcing Paul's return. Just after five thirty John heard it. He put on his most doleful face while he waited for Paul, who arrived, coat still on, smelling of fresh air and Liverpool buses, and went straight to him, his dark eyes anxiously scanning John's face.  
"How're y' feeling?"  
God he loved this guy. "I missed you" John whined.  
Paul's lips curled in a smile, and he pulled John into a hug. "I missed you too but someone has to earn our keep."  
John's arms snaked around Paul's waist, feeling the warmth beneath the thick overcoat, and the beating heart, and ... John closed his eyes and sighed. He felt Paul's fingers trail over his hair.  
"I'm home now. Have you eaten? Did you have the soup I left?"  
John nodded, reluctant to let go of Paul.   
"So ... would you like some food? A cup of tea, or something?"  
John nodded again. Actually, he was quite happy as he was with Paul holding him. If the rest of the world drifted away it would not have mattered one bit to John.  
He felt Paul kiss him gently on the top of his head.  
"Don't want you to get my cold" John muttered.  
He heard Paul chuckle, uncaring. "Probably already caught it, Johnny."

Two days later, John was much recovered and back in work.  
Three days later, and Paul went down with it.  
At least, they thought, John and Ritchie, that that was what it was. But by the evening Paul was shivering so much you could almost hear his teeth chatter, and yet he was hot to touch. Ritchie fetched blankets down and John wrapped him up warmly on the settee. Paul's eyes were fever bright, a vivid green, glittering in his pale face.   
Ritchie turned just the table lamp on so it didn't hurt Paul's eyes, and John made him up a hot drink of lemon and honey. While he was waiting for the kettle to boil he could hear Paul coughing. It sounded really rough.   
"More like the flu" said Ritchie, popping his head round the kitchen door to grab another pile of tissues.  
As John held the cup out for Paul he could hear Paul's laboured breathing, his chest rattling ominously.  
"Shall I get a doctor?" John asked, worried.   
Despite his ailment, Paul gave a shaky smile "I'm not dying, John. It's just a cold."

Two days later and the doctor was called. By then Paul had not managed to keep anything down, and John was scared at how quickly Paul had dropped weight. When he'd hugged him in bed the night before in an attempt to keep him warm it had been like holding a bag of bird bones loosely clothed in skin. It had frightened John to hear Paul's raspy, rattling breaths even when he was supposed to be sleeping, which he wasn't, really, because he couldn't breathe properly. He felt clammy and hot to touch even though he seemed to have been shivering for days now.  
It was Steve, Paul's probation officer, who'd insisted a doctor be called out. Official paperwork was required if Paul wasn't going to be where he ought to be, Steve had said, with a smile that soothed the words.  
The doctor had taken one look at Paul and immediately diagnosed a chest infection and gastric flu, which was why Paul hadn't been able to keep anything down.   
It was a few days before the prescriptions the doctor had left them with began to show results as Paul slowly perked up, looking but a shadow of his former self. The first time he attempted to get dressed after having had a shower he gazed in amazement as his jeans slid down over his hips after he'd done them up. Hiding a smile, John solemnly held out a belt to Paul.   
"Think you're gonna need a bit of help keeping them up, mate."  
Paul gratefully took the belt with fingers that seemed to have lost all their strength, and by the time he'd managed to get himself dressed he was so exhausted he fell asleep on the settee downstairs.  
Now it was John's turn to coo and coax Paul to eat and drink and rest and recuperate. It was over a week later before Paul was finally able to pick up the reins of his life again and return to work, and it took a lot of John and Ritchie's cooking to even begin to replace the weight he'd lost. 

John had forgotten all about the notebook.   
First he'd been ill and it had slipped his mind.  
Then Paul had REALLY been ill and all thoughts of it had flown out the window.  
Now he was back at work, and Paul was back at work, and one day, putting his shirts away in the bedroom, he was reminded of it when he saw a pair of Paul's socks on the floor.  
Zoom. It was back there in his head. And it was like an itch.  
An itch that wouldn't go away.  
It niggled and niggled and niggled and niggled and ...  
no, I can't, it's private, it's Paul's ....  
but .. it might tell me more about him, it might help, it may give me some insight ..  
no, I can't, I mustn't ...  
yes, just a quick peep ..  
it can't do any harm ..  
this Gollum/Smeagol debate went on for days.  
By which time John had talked himself into having a quick glance at it. He tried to justify his foreplanned action in his mind. Well, he already had. He knew he was going to look. But he had to convince himself it was the right thing to do. And he had. So .. ergo .. he had to do it. And do it soon. Like .. now.  
Except ... was Paul always this attached to him?  
He needed a bit of space in order to sneak a look. That is, he needed Paul out of the way. Occupied. Busy. Somewhere else.  
But Paul was always there, with him. Where ever he was, there Paul was too. Like a shadow.  
So frustrated was John by this that a couple of times he snapped at Paul, and then felt guilty when Paul, puzzled, backed off.  
Each time John excused himself, blaming something, and would pull Paul back in for a quick kiss or hug.  
And then feel even more guilty when Paul easily accepted whatever excuse John had offered him.  
If he didn't do it soon, guilt would change his mind.  
Then the occasion presented itself.   
A late Sunday morning and Paul decided he would go for a shower. There was no rush over it. Paul leisurely gathered together some clean clothes and looked out a new shampoo, checked for a new razor, grabbed his freshly made cup of tea and, with a smile at John, exited the room.  
John moved fast.  
He went straight to Paul's underwear drawer and was brought up sharply when he didn't find the notebook where he'd left it on the left hand side underneath the socks.  
After the initial disappointment, he rummaged under Paul's boxers the other side of the drawer and his fingers located the edge of the book. His heart beating faster, he realised Paul had obviously had the notebook out since John's original finding of it.   
John crossed to the bedroom doorway and put his head out, listening carefully. In the old terrace house the bathroom was downstairs and off the kitchen, so he would have a certain amount of warning time when Paul exited the shower. Reassured that Paul was safely esconced in the shower and clutching the book tightly, John slid down the door jamb to sit on the floor, where he could keep an ear out for Paul's return.  
His curiosity piqued, he flipped open the book to the back, wondering what Paul had written since he'd last glanced at it.  
His initial reaction was amusement, and his lips curled in a smile as he looked at the tiny drawing of a dog and a cat that peered back out at him. John ran his thumb over them, a dawning realisation of what they represented. Paul's conversation with him about them having their own place and acquiring an animal each. Paul had described John as being like a 'marmalade cat', and that was what he was now looking at.  
A marmalade cat, fluffy, with amber eyes sitting next to a black labrador type dog, it's ears pricked expectantly. They'd both been neatly coloured in, and, arranged next to one another as if for a photograph, they looked out of the page as if staring into a camera lense.   
John's conversation with Paul came flooding back, and John realised maybe that was why Paul drew or wrote in the notebook ... it was to remind himself of things. Of incidents. Of conversations. It was such a cute picture, so open and innocent, John's heart was warmed by it.  
He closed the book, thinking.  
He didn't know what the first page would hold.  
He wasn't sure if he wanted to know.  
Part of him wanted to put it back .. to pry no more.  
But the other part of him had to know. Just had to know.  
He took a deep breath before he opened it to the first page, and steeled himself for what he might see. He wasn't aware of the fact that he'd automatically shut his eyes as well.  
He opened them ... wondering .. scared, almost ... and was brought up sharp in astonishment and surprise.  
The page had been coloured. All of it. With a crayon, such as a child would use.   
A bright red crayon. Immense pressure had been placed on it because it was deeper red in some places than others, and tiny, infinitesimal bits of crayon that had flaked off still clung to the page.   
There was not an inch that wasn't covered.  
If placed in water it would have floated for a while.  
John frowned, unsure. What had Paul been thinking to do this?  
And then he realised, and his heart shot up in his chest.  
As he ran his fingers tentatively over the surface, feeling the grittiness, the deep indents, it was as if he brought the page to life.  
Waves of anger and hate emanated from the open page, rolling outwards towards him. When Paul had done this he must have been in turmoil.  
John could feel it still.   
The emotions remained, trapped within the violent swirls of red. Pouring across time.  
John closed the book and drew a breath. He felt as if every bit of joy had been sucked from him.  
He swiped his hand over his face.   
He wasn't sure if he wanted to look at the next page. He paused, listening. No sound of Paul yet. It had looked as if it would be a longer than usual shower.  
Taking a breath, John opened to the next page.  
The back of the red painted page had been left. It would have been impossible to write on it as the fierce indents had dug through.  
But the page facing was different. Calm, almost, in comparison.  
Covered in Paul's neat writing with a list of names.  
John frowned, perplexed, and looked closer. Paul had started off normally, at the top left hand corner, and there, tidily written in black biro, was the name Luke. It leapt out at John. Alongside in the same black biro was the name Dean. John started, seeing his ex's name on the page in the same careful handwriting.  
John licked his suddenly dry lips.   
He wasn't sure he liked where this was going.  
He studied the page carefully.   
As Paul had progressed and the list had grown, the writing had become smaller to fit more names in, and the implements Paul had used to write with varied from black to blue to red biro with the occasional, much fainter, pencil.   
And when all the lines had been used Paul had began to write in the margins. Sideways. Upside down. Eventually at any angle that would fit in any tiny remaining space.  
John's eyes scanned the names. So many. He saw Keith's and Mark's and Mike's and Stefan's and Loius' ... on and on .. and on.  
It was a litany.  
John was suddenly reminded of Arya Stark in Game of Thrones they'd been watching with her list of people who'd harmed her or her family. Those she had a personal vendetta against.  
Glancing down again at the many names facing him, John knew with surety this was Paul's own personal vendetta .. his litany.  
He knew what this was. He screwed his eyes tight shut, not wanting to believe what was staring him in the face.  
These men's names ... and Paul.  
Waves of horror rolled over John and his fingers were white where he gripped the book.  
Tell me it's not true, he thought desperately. Tell me I've got it wrong.   
How many were there?  
His eyes skimmed the page, blurred from the tears that had risen suddenly into his eyes.  
Too many. Too, too many.  
He swiped a tear away angrily, feeling guilty that he'd not been there to help Paul.  
The fact they had never even met at that point seemed inconsequential.  
His heart went out to his boyfriend.  
Jesus, no wonder Paul hid his feelings behind so many masks.

The click of a door lock downstairs animated John.  
He rose swiftly to his feet and, darting over to the dresser, shoved the notebook back where he found it just as he heard Paul's swift footsteps coming up the stairs. He hurled himself across the room to sit on the bed, and schooled his face into an innocent expression as Paul entered, his hair damp from the shower.  
John knew he looked guilty. He could feel the colour burning in his cheeks. Paul had noticed too.  
"Hi. You okay?"  
John nodded, not sure if his voice would work.  
Paul sat by him. John refused to meet his glance. Paul had an uncanny knack of being able to read his mind. He could feel Paul's eyes fixed upon him.  
"Johnny?" It was a query, Paul's breath warm upon his neck.  
John turned and flung his arms around Paul, drawing him in tightly, clutching him with rigid fingers.  
"I'm sorry, Paul, I'm so fucking sorry."  
John's words burst against Paul's collarbone and Paul frowned, his eyes quickly scanning the room for any evidence of what had caused this outburst. Had John broken his guitar? Accidentally burned his music? Damaged something?  
Nothing Paul could see, other than the bottom drawer of his dresser was slightly open, but then again he'd just taken clean underwear downstairs so he immediately dismissed that of being of any importance.  
Paul hugged John back. He could feel John trembling.  
"What are you sorry about? What's wrong?"  
John pulled back to stare Paul in the face, his eyes running over every feature that he loved so much.  
"That I wasn't there. That I didn't protect you."  
A perfect v-shaped crease appeared between Paul's eyes. "From .. what? Protect me from what, John?"  
The page of the notebook appeared in front of John's eyes. His grip on Paul tightened even more as he pulled him back, his words muffled into Paul's shoulders.  
"Those men. From all those fuckin' perverts!"  
Paul stilled, his mind thinking rapidly. What had gone on? Had someone been while he was in the shower? Had Ritchie said something? Hang on .. Ritchie wasn't here. Then .. what ... who?  
"I .. I don't understand." Paul stammered, completely flummoxed, although butterflies had begun their usual dance in his tummy at the uncertainty.  
John took a deep breath.   
He wasn't going to admit to the book. He couldn't.  
But he was going to broach something.  
He drew back again from Paul, their faces inches from each other.   
"Luke" said John. He felt Paul start.  
John gritted his teeth. "What he did .. to you ..."   
Paul had gone completely still, his face pale. John thought for a moment he might have stopped breathing.  
"I .. er ... I figured it out."  
Paul's eyes widened but he didn't say a word.  
John licked his suddenly dry lips. "You talk .. y'know, when you're asleep .. an' ... and there's other things, too ... things you don't like me to do that panic you."  
Paul's eyes were like dark coals burning into John's face. John could feel Paul waiting, tense within his arms.  
John's glance dropped, it was all too much. They landed on Paul's wrists, and he saw again the scars. He smoothed his fingers gently over one of the bony wrists.  
"Is that why you did this?"  
John looked up sharply to find Paul's eyes were still glued on him. "Is it?"  
Paul glanced away, his breathing faster. They were memories he didn't want to recall.   
He'd wanted to end it. He'd wanted out. It had been a poor attempt.  
And later, at the hospital, Luke had been there at his bedside as a solicitous boyfriend, concerned and loving, but Paul had known, from the painful squeeze Luke had given his hand, that he was going to pay for it when he got back. And Luke had made him pay, many times over, with his body. The desperation Paul had felt was still there, locked inside him. When they'd returned to Luke's flat, Luke had locked him into the bedroom. No words had been spoken, but Paul had never left that room again. The door had been locked, and was unlocked only when Paul was required. He was nothing. Just an object to be used. He was nothing. Not worth anything. He'd been told it time and again.

John pulled Paul to him, holding him tight. John wanted him to know. Wanted him to know he loved him. Wanted him to know he understood. He understood why Paul sometimes acted as he did. He understood why Paul sometimes slipped out of time and forgot things and slept.   
If only he'd been there. "I'd have fucking killed 'em with me bare hands" John murmured into Paul's ear.  
The ghost of a smile touched Paul's face. "I know you would have, Johnny."


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's that time of year... beginning to look a lot like Christmas and if you're a musician you are BUSY ... so many apologies .. a quick chapter, just short, haven't forgotten the fic, but not much time at the moment. Merry Christmas everybody.

The day after that, their relationship changed. It was a subtle shift into a new dimension.

Paul knew it had changed. He'd felt it. But how? What was different? He tried not to think too much about it or try to analyse it. He was aware of his habit of overthinking things. At least, his friends always told him he was overthinking things. He thought he was just being cautious. Once bitten, twice shy. The change, Paul decided, was John. He'd altered. He'd suddenly become more ... caring. Yes, that was it. Paul rolled the word around in his head while his eyes gazed off somewhere in the middle distance. Caring. Not that John hadn't, most of their time, been caring. But this was a different caring. John seemed to take every opportunity to slip his arm around Paul and hug him. A gentle squeeze here and there. A tenderness in his eyes when he looked at Paul. As if he was something special. Something precious. Paul's lips curved in a soft smile. Yes, precious. Precious to John. He couldn't remember the last time he'd ever felt like that. It must be ... Paul's mind drifted, pages of memory flickering back in time. His mum, tucking him tightly into bed at night, giving him a goodnight kiss. The love he'd seen in her eyes. Pure, unadulterated love. It had shone through when she looked at him. Paul hugged himself tightly, hardly believing he wasn't dreaming. That ... that was how John was looking at him. As if he was the best thing in the world. Him, Paul, who'd been nothing. Not worth anything.

"Aye up, our kid, which planet you on?"  
Paul jumped, startled, as John addressed him with an amused glint in his eyes.  
Paul gathered his scattered thoughts and himself together. His smile widened. "Dunno. Jupiter, I think."  
"Ah, Bringer of Joy, eh?"  
Paul frowned, then placed John's quote. "The Planet Suite?"  
John nodded. "Not often I listen to posh music but I like that one."  
"Posh music?" Paul's lips curved into an even wider smile, his eyes twinkling. "There's no such thing as posh music, John ... it's all just music."  
John looked fondly at him. "You would say that, wouldn't you, Mr Musical Maestro."  
John's smile took away any sting from the words, and Paul moved easily into John's arms, which closed protectively around him. Paul sighed, and nestled his head onto John's shoulder. It was a sigh full of contentment.

John knew their relationship had changed too. He'd changed. Reading Paul's notebook had caused him to have an epiphany. He couldn't turn the clock back. He couldn't undo what had been done. But he could pour all his love and compassion into the young man and try to right wrongs that were not of their making. Convince Paul that he had worth and wasn't nothing. Heaven knew he'd heard that phrase often enough from Paul's lips. He tightened his arms around Paul and felt Paul melt into his embrace.  
"I love you" he murmured into the dark hair, and he felt a squeeze from Paul's arms and a soft muffled response. It seemed to John the more love he poured in the more Paul opened to him, like a flower unfurling. John felt drowned in love. He'd always known Paul had a lot of love to give, but it was as if he was now gathering the confidence to open himself to John, to give back what was being given to him. 

John woke one morning feeling as if something was wrong. Not wrong in a bad way, but there was a bit of a jolt. He frowned, glancing around their room. They'd not overslept. In fact, the alarm hadn't even gone off yet. Beside him Paul slumbered on, breath gusting from between gently parted lips, looking relaxed and refreshed. John's frown deepened, then he swore quietly. THAT was what was different. They'd both slept all through the night. Paul hadn't had a nightmare. John had slept all night too and felt thoroughly rested.  
He glanced down again at Paul, who, sensing his gaze, dozily opened his eyes. "Whassamatta ..notgottagetupyet.." Paul gave an enormous yawn and rolled over, burrowing back into John's side, his eyes determinedly screwed tightly shut. John smiled and lay back down again, drawing Paul against him.  
"It's okay, Paul, not yet."  
He was talking to himself.

John didn't, for one moment, think that the nightmares would cease just like that. He didn't for one moment think Paul would suddenly be okay .. cured .. normal. Your average twenty two year old. He didn't for one moment think there wouldn't still be times when Paul would have absences. Times when depression would rear it's ugly head. Times when bad memories would worm their way back in. But ... this was a start. A beginning. It might be the beginning of a long road, but Paul would make it. Never had John been so determined.

Ritchie and Lottie set a date in May for their wedding, and had chosen a church on the outskirts of the city just outside Speke. Of course one had to ignore the fact it was near to the flight path to Liverpool airport, and then the clutter of maritime paraphernalia that bordered the Mersey. Now, in February, it looked bleak and windswept, but they knew that in May the hedgerows would be full of blossom, and cow parsley would provide a spattering of white parasols in the nearby fields. Together they began to plan their future. George was to be best man, and Paul and John were to be ushers. Paul was so excited anyone would have thought he'd planned the whole thing himself. He bombarded Ritchie with innumerable questions, his eyes wide with anxiety and excitement. Ritchie found himself quite overwhelmed and exhausted with the interminable questions, but he held on to his smile and reminded himself that this ... well, this was Paul. This was how he was. And it was great that he was so invested in their wedding plans. The questions would come at odd intervals and oftimes inappropriate times ... like early in the morning.  
Sometimes inconveniently early in the morning. Like when getting ready for work. Grabbing a last minute cup of tea and hearing the sound of Paul's footsteps approaching the kitchen, Ritchie's heart sank. He loved the lad to bits, but now was not the time for a ...  
"Ritchie ..." Ritchie glanced at the clock before replying to Paul. It was six forty eight in the morning and he had to go to work. This was quite early for Paul to be up.  
"Ritchie? Ritchie, can ...?"  
Ritchie turned with a smile. Be patient, he chided himself. "Morning, Paul. Up early, aren't you?"  
Ritchie took in the sticking up dark hair, the hastily pulled on t-shirt (John's, of course) and the fact that Paul was anxiously chewing his lip, a worried crease across his forehead.  
"Ritchie .. oh, yeah....morning ...what do we wear? I haven't got a suit and..."  
"Paul, it's okay....."  
"...an' I'm not sure if I can afford one ..."  
"Paul, don't ..."  
"..'cos, y'know, I don't want to wear a crap one, but to..."  
"Paul.."  
"...get one made, y'know, it'll take ..."  
"Paul..."  
"...time, an' it'll cost more, but ..."  
"PAUL.....SHUT UP!"  
Paul halted, mouth open, at Ritchie's yell, and took a step back. Ritchie had never shouted at him before. Had he said?...or done?...  
Ritchie could see the panic flitting across Paul's face, and he spoke swiftly to allay any worries.  
"Paul, you don't have to worry about clothes. We're hiring morning suits."  
It took a moment for the information to filter through, and then Paul's face lit up.  
"Morning suits?"  
Ritchie nodded. "Yeah, that okay?"  
Paul nodded, speechless for once.  
Ritchie raised an amused eyebrow. "You'll look stunning in one, Paul. A proper star."  
Paul's smile widened even more. "Does John know? Can I tell him?"  
Ritchie nodded. "Sure y'can. I dunno if he'll be as excited about the prospect as you, but...."  
Paul had gone, flying up the stairs. Ritchie heard him crash through the door into his and John's room.  
Ritchie shrugged, and picked up his abandoned cup of tea, a smile still lingering. He was sure John would cope.

"John! John!"  
John shot bolt upright in bed, scrabbling for his glasses, all senses on alert for whatever was wrong. He shoved them onto the end of his nose, his mind in a whirl.  
"Paul? What...."  
Paul took a flying leap onto the bed, a bundle of energy. Still wearing John's t-shirt.  
"John, we're having morning suits."  
John frowned. "What?"  
"Morning suits. John..." Paul had hold of John's arm and was shaking it. "Ritchie .. he said he's hiring morning suits for us to wear. At the wedding."  
Paul's excitement was so effervescent one could almost hear the air itself fizzing.  
John screwed his eyes up, took a deep breath, composed himself, opened his eyes and looked at Paul, whose face was inches away from his own.  
"You woke me to tell me that?"  
Paul paused in his shaking of John's arm and drew back.  
"I ..I thought..."  
John smiled, and caught Paul's hand. Morning suits might not be his thing. He was far happier in t-shirt and jeans, but into his mind drifted a vision of Paul in one. No doubt there were compensations.  
He kissed the end of Paul's fingertips. "You'll look stunning in one" John said truthfully.  
Paul squirmed and coloured, the excitement beginning to bubble up again.  
"It's gonna be awesome, innit?"  
John couldn't help it, Paul's smile and enthusiasm was so infectious.  
"Are you gonna be like this for the next ..." John paused to mentally count up to May in his head "..almost four months?"  
"Uh huh"  
John groaned and slapped his hand on the side of his head. "Lord help me."

Paul was anxious. John watched him getting dressed, walking a circle and chewing his thumb between each item of clothing. John hid a smile. Sometimes he wondered if it would be possible to wire Paul up to the National Grid? Surely he produced enough energy to power a small village?  
"Paul, you'll be okay...stop worrying."  
"But .. I dunno what he's gonna do. And it's not just Steve .. I've got to see the guy that's over him, an' he might ask me questions."  
Paul stood stock still. That thought hadn't occurred to him before. Eyes wide, he gazed at John appealingly.  
"Oh shit, they might ask me questions, John."  
John shrugged nonchalantly, trying to bring down Paul's level of anxiety. "So? You can answer 'em. You'll be fine. Stop worrying."  
Stop worrying. John shook his head. May as well tell the rain to stop falling.  
Paul's eyes were fixed on his. In them John could read the fears and emotions. He knew Paul was trying to ground himself. He often gazed intently at John like that whenever he was unsettled.  
John softened his voice. "Oy, stressball, just chill, eh?"  
A little smile touched Paul's lips, though he didn't drop eye contact with John. Not quite grounded enough yet obviously. John noted with amusement Paul had got as far as one sock, a pair of boxers and a shirt. "Is that it then for today? No trousers?"  
Paul started, and glanced down at himself in surprise, as if he'd forgotten that he was getting dressed. His fingers flew to the buttons of his shirt, then halted again.  
"John?"  
"Hmm?"  
"What if they ask me things?"  
John gave a little sigh. Just quietly though. Not enough that Paul could hear. "Then you answer."  
"But.. what if they ask me about .. about ..." he trailed off.  
"Paul, it's a review, not an interrogation. They just want to know how you're doing .. an' you're doing fine." John added firmly.  
Paul nodded, trying to believe that. Trying to be strong. Inside thousands of butterflies were dancing. He wanted just to stay with John. Not go out. Not go anywhere. Not do anything. Not ever have to go ....  
He hadn't noticed John move, but a firm hand grasped his wrist. Paul looked up in surprise to see John right in front of him.  
"Paul, listen to me. You've come a long way. You've got nothing to hide, nothing to be ashamed of. You've done everything they've asked you to. You have absolutely nothing to worry about. And Steve will be there too. He'll be with you, so please ... just stop worrying."  
That was a long series of statements to take in. Paul's eyes were still fixed on John's, as if Paul was drawing strength from him.  
"Come with me" Paul whispered the words hopefully.  
John smiled and shook his head. "I can't, love. One .. I've got to keep the shop, an' two .. this has to be something that you do on your own. An' you can. You can do this."  
John felt an imperceptible shiver go through Paul. "I don't wanna go."  
John tugged him into his arms. "I know you don't, love, but it'll be alright, an' you'll be alright. You can tell me all about it when you get back. Do it for me, eh?"  
John tipped Paul's chin up with one of his fingers, and gently kissed him. "When you're done, get the bus to the shop an' tell me all about it. I'll have a cup of tea ready for you. Text me when you're nearly there, eh?"  
"A cup of tea?"  
John smiled. "Aye, an' a choccy biscuit. How's that?"

John had almost forgotten his promise when the text came through from Paul....'5 mins from shop c u soon'  
He hastily went and put the kettle on and got Paul's favourite mug out of the cupboard. He'd just put the tea bag in when he heard the shop doorbell ping and suddenly Paul was there, his arms around him, his face flushed and excited, hair damp from the drizzly weather.  
"John .. John, guess what?"  
John turned in the embrace of Paul's arms, his face responding to Paul's brilliant smile. "What?"  
"The limitation .. it's been lifted on the weekend .. I can go out."  
"Anywhere?"  
"Anywhere! " Paul was so excited. "They said I'd fulfilled all they'd asked of me and I can have the weekend to go out. Still got to be in for six, but other than that I can go out."  
John could feel Paul almost quivering with joy. He gave him a hug.  
"I told you you'd be okay, y' daft sod. Worry for nothing, you do."  
Paul stilled within his arms, momentarily serious, then his face lit up with an ecstatic smile.  
"Thank you" Paul impulsively flung his arms around John's neck, almost strangling him.  
John jokingly made a gasping sound, and Paul let go his hold slightly. "What for?" John asked, genuinely puzzled.  
Paul launched himself back at John, almost knocking him over. "For being there. For being you. For believing in me."  
Tears started suddenly to John's eyes. He hugged Paul tightly. "Y' daft lad" he muttered softly.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas everybody.

Paul flew through the gates of Calderstones Park, excitement adding wings to his feet. It was a Sunday morning .. his first Sunday of freedom. He whirled round to face John, who was struggling to keep up.   
"Come on, John ... Johnny..." he held out his hand beseechingly, then turned and fled again, dancing along the path.  
John paused, catching his breath. He unwound his scarf, delighting in the fresh air that caressed his neck. Was the weather really that warm for mid February? He took off his glasses to wipe the sweat off his face, everything turning blurry for a moment. Popping them back on he gazed round in consternation. How the fuck had Paul managed to disappear so quickly?  
"Boo!!!"John jumped as Paul tagged him from behind, then danced off out of reach again, retreating behind a grove of shrubby bushes.   
John could hear muffled giggles, and rounding the corner of a forsythia that had just begun to show yellow buds he could see the edge of Paul's coat. He made a grab but with a quick laugh Paul had gone, tripping like some woodland elf towards a grove of trees.  
John decided that was a good analogy. Paul was like some bewitching creature from the forest world and he was a human who'd been bewitched and was forever destined to chase the elusive creature down the pathways of time.  
"Come on, Johnny."   
Paul was back there in front of him, cheeks rosy and glowing, dark hair windblown.  
John gazed at him in awe.  
''I'm enchanted' he thought ' that's it. I'm fucking enchanted.'  
John was rooted to the spot, unable to move, his mouth agape at the vision that had suddenly appeared in front of him.  
Then the vision grabbed his wrist, curling strong fingers around it. Fingers that were far too strong to belong to a fey creature.  
"Come on, John. I'll race you to that oak."  
Oak? John couldn't see an oak. He could only see Paul. Paul whom he loved...totally and completely. He had eyes only for him.  
Paul, seeing the hesitation, smiled, crinkles appearing at the corners of his eyes. He leaned in and gave John a quick peck on the lips.  
"Race you" he whispered, twirling away.  
John watched for a second, then began to run after Paul.  
It was no good. He felt like a lumbering elephant. Who could compete with those long legs of Paul's?  
By the time he'd made it to the oak, Paul was squatting down at the roots, investigating something, poking and prodding with an inquisitive forefinger.  
John watched him for a moment, amusement curling his lips. "What you found? Gold?" he enquired, catching his breath.  
Paul looked up with a grin, and withdrew a grubby tennis ball which he threw at John. John ducked and it went sailing down the hill.  
From out of nowhere appeared a dog, who caught the ball and headed back to Paul with it, tail wagging.  
That was it. John had lost him.  
"Oh my god, aren't you gorgeous. What's your name, eh?"  
The black labrador circled Paul, tail wagging enthusiastically, the ball firmly clamped in it's jaws.   
John could only stand and watch, and remembered the tiny drawing Paul had done in the notebook that he, John, was NOT supposed to know about. The drawing of a little marmalade cat and a black dog sitting side by side. John decided, watching Paul's interaction with the animal, that one day he would .. he most definitely WOULD ... buy Paul a dog. As John watched, completely entranced by his boyfriend ... what the fuck was going on today? what kind of spell had Paul woven over him?...he wasn't usually this besotted ... was he? .... an older lady wearing a quilted jacket approached them, puffing her way up the hill.  
"I'm sorry .." she was apologising as she came.  
Paul whirled to face her, wide eyed and smiling, the dog still running excited circles around him.  
"Is he yours? What's his name?"  
John saw the lady halt, her eyes falling on Paul. He saw her pulled into the same thrall he'd been tugged into.   
Her smile spread, enjoying the sight of Paul with her dog. "His names Molly," she replied with a chuckle.  
"Ah .. right .. sorry, my lady" Paul fussed the dog round her ears, and her tail banged enthusiastically against his legs.  
They made a little circle ... John thought ... himself, the woman, and the dog, all surrounding Paul who seemed to be sparking with so much energy it was difficult not to be drawn to him. Even as he was part of this circle John found himself also outside, observing. Paul had a magnetism. John had realised that before, but never so much as today. It was as if he was pulling everything to him. The woman stood, caught up in it ... the dog wouldn't leave him .. and now a couple of children passing on their bikes had also paused to watch.  
Paul was twirling around in a circle and the dog was whirling with him, excited and panting, the ball having dropped, forgotten, from her jaws. Everyone's eyes were on Paul.  
"Fuckin' Pied Piper' John murmured to himself quietly.  
This .. this character that was emerging like a butterfly from a chrysalis ... was this what Luke had seen? Was this the boy George had known?  
John had a feeling he was seeing the real Paul emerge ... and if anything, he was even more fascinating than the one he'd known for the last year.

"Tea. You promised me tea" Paul flopped down on a bench, wafting his coat open to cool down after he'd run down the hill. He looked accusingly at John, a smile lurking at the corner of his lips.  
"The cafe's shut until March .. it's not Spring yet, Paul."  
"Ice cream and a cup of tea you promised me .. for my birthday."  
John was catapulted back to that agonising period when he thought he'd lost Paul. He hated to be reminded of it. He briefly closed his eyes.  
Then Paul's hand was on his. Paul's fingers squeezing his.  
"There's a Costa outside the gates on this side. We can get a take out, eh? My treat?"  
Fuck. John had a feeling Paul knew exactly what he'd been thinking about.  
John opened his eyes to find that Paul's face was only a couple of inches away from his, peering in concern.  
John summoned up a smile and squeezed the fingers back. "I hate remembering that time ..." John whispered. He saw Paul's face alter, the smile faltering.  
He squeezed Paul's fingers even tighter, feeling the bony knuckles. "I .. I thought I'd lost you ..." To John's amazement tears were trickling from his eyes. Jesus, what was up with his emotions today?   
He felt Paul's arm slip round him, sliding easily under his coat, hugging his waist, warm breath murmuring in his ear " But you didn't lose me, did you? I'm here ... I'm always gonna be here, Johnny."  
John grasped both of Paul's hands firmly. "You'd fuckin' better be."

The next Thursday Paul caught the eight thirty bus as usual to go to the rehabilitation centre where he worked with young people whose lives had been affected by drugs. It was part of his sentencing and, although he did it willingly, he actually hated going. Something he'd never told John. Or anyone, really. Some of the youngsters who were patients in the clinic had had their lives totally fucked up by drug use. Paul felt it keenly. He knew he'd been part of a ring who'd provided drugs .. even if he'd been a reluctant supplier. His arm had been twisted to take part, and not a small amount of blackmail either. All the same he knew what he'd been doing. He'd never tried to persuade himself otherwise, but he hadn't done it willingly. And now, every Thursday, he was having to face young people whose lives had been ravaged by the use of such drugs. But he determinedly kept his head down and got on with the work.

Meanwhile John caught the bus to the record shop. He hated Thursdays too. Well ... not hated them so much as missed the company of Paul. Thursdays were quiet. Very few customers. John usually took the chance to catch up on some stock taking. Maybe a bit of tidying. Digging out records that had hung around, unsold, for a couple of years and popping them into the bargain box. He'd scan them first, considering, and if they looked hopeful he'd put them on the turntable and have a listen. If they sounded any good he'd put them on one side for Paul to listen to the next day. In this way Paul had added some little known but catchy tunes to his growing repertoire. John loved what he saw as a personal challenge ... trying to find unknown songs for Paul to discover and make his own. John paused, his long fingers holding onto the cover of an unknown record. Into his mind shot a vision of Paul returning home on a Thursday evening, smelling of the outside and Liverpool buses, his eyes sparkling, keen and excited 'what have you found for me today Johnny?.' John's lips curved into a smile. This was his task today ... find something that Paul would fall in love with. John would play it to him and Paul would listen, brow furrowed in concentration, resting his chin on his hand, his eyes faraway, listening ... absorbing .. thoughtful. John would know Paul had enjoyed it if, later, he would hear the melodic line picked out ... sometimes on guitar, but mainly on piano. As the days progressed John would hear the piece being harmonised .. chords selected, discarded, alternatives chosen .. a melodic riff added, the odd harmonic twist to add interest ... and, voila ... Paul would present it to him to listen to. Tied up, perfected, packaged. 

John's eyes narrowed as he read the title of the unknown disc he held in his hands. He'd certainly never heard of the artistes or the song before. 1957? Mmm .. Paul seemed to favour a lot of fifties music. John headed towards the record player. May as well have a listen.

From the corner of his eye he noticed a car draw up outside the shop. Unusual in that it was double yellow lines there. Must be someone delivering, he thought to himself as he placed the disc on the turntable. He placed the stylus on the record, then glanced up again, peering through the steamed up windows of the little shop. Police car? Yes .. it was. A police car. He paused, fingers poised to place the needle on the record, to watch a vaguely familiar figure get out of the passenger door. A frown creased John's face. That looked awfully like Steve, who had turned to open the rear passenger door then stepped aside to allow someone to exit. As a dark head emerged, John's heart plummeted, and any thought of playing a record fled from his mind. Even as Steve entered the shop with Paul close behind him, John was there, his feet having crossed the space without him having been aware of it. From his peripheral vision he saw Steve blink, startled, then say something ... but John had eyes only for Paul. Paul, whose head had started up swiftly, his eyes wide and anxious, three vivid scratches down the side of his left cheek. Their eyes met. John looked at him in horror.  
"What the fuck?"  
"John .. it's ..." Steve spoke, trying to get in quickly, to calm the situation.  
John's head swivelled to him, eyes narrowed accusingly. "What the fuck's happened? What's gone on?"  
Paul dropped eye contact, shuffling awkwardly, his hand going unconsciously to his damaged cheek.  
Steve tried again "Look ... shall we move away from the door? In case someone comes in?"  
John could feel his breath coming in short bursts, and Paul locked eyes again with him.   
John nodded. "Okay. Yeah, okay." He backed down, letting them enter the tiny floor area in front of the counter. Steve maintained an effective shield in front of Paul.  
"It was the parent of a patient .. he became agitated and attacked Paul." Steve's explanation was brief and to the point. "It shouldn't have happened. I'm sorry."  
John's mouth was agape. Someone had attacked Paul? HIS Paul? How fucking dare they. How dare they lay a finger on him.  
"Too right it shouldn't. You said he'd be safe." John was in there straightaway, defensive. Paul could have really got injured. Christ hadn't the lad been through enough already?  
Steve ran a hand over his face, and John was surprised ... and somewhat mollified too ... to see it was shaking. So the incident DID matter. He wasn't just saying sorry because he had to. He DID feel it too.  
"Yes, I know I did. I'm sorry. Paul won't be going there again. We'll find something different for him to do to serve out the rest of his sentence." Steve turned to speak to Paul.  
"Are you okay?"  
Paul nodded, looking pale and shaken.  
Steve turned back to John. "Maybe a strong sweet tea might be in order. That's what you do, isn't it? In the case of shock?"  
John became aware that his feet seemed to have glued themselves to the floor. His eyes sought Paul's, and an unspoken communication crossed between them. Are you okay? Yeah I'm okay.  
John nodded, and moved into the tiny kitchen, Steve and Paul close behind him. John heard him tell Paul to sit down, then Steve was at his shoulder.  
"John, one of the doctors at the clinic disinfected Paul's face, and he should be okay, but just keep an eye on those scratches, okay? Any sign of infection get him to a doctor, or ..."  
John paused in filling the kettle, letting the tap run into the tiny sink, and turned to face Steve.  
"Why? Why did they do it? Why Paul?"  
Caught mid sentence, Steve paused and glanced at Paul. He cleared his throat as he turned back to John.  
"The parent had a child at the clinic .. a young girl who's in a serious condition. A heroin overdose and it had been tampered with .. the heroin, that is .. it was impure. She might not pull through. The father was traumatised .. and .. well, Paul just happened to be there, and .." Steve didn't know how to go on. He saw both sides. He understood both sides.  
Paul shifted awkwardly on the stool he was sitting on, his face colouring.  
Steve shook his head. "I'm sorry" he repeated again " but to that father Paul represented one of the fixers. I know .. " Steve held his hand up as John went to speak " I know just what you're going to say, John, but the world doesn't work like that. To that father he might lose his little girl. To him it's Paul's fault. We know it isn't .. you, me .. we know that .. but he's not going to stop and be logical. It still shouldn't have happened. I'd told you Paul would be safe, and I'm sorry." Steve drew breath. "Look" he indicated the waiting car "I need to get back. I have to fill in forms and set up an investigation as to why and how this was allowed to happen. Beyond which " he attempted a smile "I'm parked on double yellow lines .. don't want to risk a fine. Just look after him, okay? I'll be in touch as soon as we've sorted something else out."  
Steve turned to speak to Paul. "So .. wait to hear from me, okay? And just keep an eye on those scratches." Steve hesitated, considering. "I'm sorry, Paul. That shouldn't have happened .. to you, least of all. Just take care, okay?"

John saw Steve out, and when he returned to the kitchen Paul was busy making himself a cup of tea. He paused, and looked at John, worry in the dark eyes.  
John took the kettle out of Paul's hand and put it back on the counter, pulling him into his arms. John raised his thumb up to touch the scratches, which looked deep and painful, and Paul winced, pulling back slightly from the touch.  
"Are you okay?"  
Paul, chewing his lip, just nodded. John didn't like this. He didn't want an uncommunicative Paul. He didn't want the young man building barriers again.  
John sighed. "What happened?"  
Maybe if he could get Paul to talk rather than trap it all away. He could feel Paul's eyes anxiously on his.  
"S'like Steve said" mumbled Paul.   
John raised hie eyebrows. "Yes? And?..."  
Conflicting emotions were whirling round in Paul. John could feel them. Sense them. He would either open up or .. or ..  
Next moment, Paul's arms were round John's neck, his breath warm upon John's shoulder. "He .. he said I'm a murderer .. that it was my fault, and that I ought to be lyin' there, not his daughter, an' that if he had a gun he'd shoot me, or a knife an' he'd stab me, and rid the earth of my kind .. put me six feet under where I belong and he .. he got his hands around my throat an' I couldn't breathe and .. and ..."  
John's arms tightened around Paul. Well, at least he'd come out. "Okay .. ssh. You know it's not your fault."  
"It is, though. It was. I had used to .."  
"Because you were made to, Paul. It wasn't your choice."  
"I didn't have to. I didn't have to do anything. I should have stood up to Luke .. I should have said no. You would have" Paul pulled back in John's arms, surveying his face with anxious dark eyes " you would have, wouldn't you? No one would have pushed you round or made you do anything you didn't want to. I'm .. I'm just fuckin' hopeless .. bloody crap, that's all I am."  
"Whoa, whoa up. Hey ... that's not true. And I don't know what I would have done, Paul, in your position. How old were you? Sixteen? Seventeen? Luke just took advantage of you and used you. None of this is your fault. None of it. Now, come on, let's get you this cup of tea. " John loosened Paul's arms off him, hugely relieved that Paul had simply let it all go like that instead of hiding it away. "Anyway .. you won't be going there again, so put it all behind you."  
Paul collapsed back down on the chair, his overcoat falling open, chewing his thumb anxiously. "Still my fault" he was muttering.  
"I was just sorting the records out .. finding out the ones that have hung around for years. Wanna help me? Or would you rather go home?"  
Records? Paul looked up, a flicker of interest in his face. "Are these the ones when you find me random pieces no one knows?"  
John held out his hand. "The very same. Come and have a listen." 

An alternative was found for Paul for the remainder of his sentence. A far cry from helping at a rehabilitation clinic. It was to assist at an old people's home. To John it sounded dull and boring. How on earth was his quicksilver boyfriend going to get on in such a set-up? To John's amazement, the answer was very well.

The first evening Paul came back with tales to tell. He'd been sitting chatting with the residents and they'd told him stories of their own youth that he'd found fascinating. So many stories. Funny, sad, joyful, triumphant. His head was in a whirl with them all. He bought a notebook and began jotting their stories down, each one neatly headed with the name of the person who'd told it. His favourite one had to be Jean's story who, annoyed and upset by the arrival of a baby in the family and feeling left out, had wrapped the child up, put them in the pram and wheeled them down to the local shop and attempted to swap her for a dozen eggs. Fortunately the shop keeper had escorted her and her baby sister safely back home before any harm came to either of them. Then there was Jim with his story of being rescued from the beaches of Dunkirk, and Amy who'd been a dancer in Paris at the time of the liberation, and Joan who'd made and sold sweets for a living, using garden plants to do the colouring.

The residents of the home were enchanted with the dark haired young man who seemed to find their life stories of great interest, and he certainly lifted the spirits of the old ladies there who looked forward to seeing him and maybe ... just maybe ... spent a little extra time on perfecting their appearance on his visiting days. To the elderly men he was polite and courteous and, what was best of all for Paul, no one except for the matron of the home knew that he was there because he was serving a sentence out.

The first time he was there he had spotted a piano in the corner of the communal lounge and enquired about it. He'd been told that 'someone used to play but there's nobody now'. Before he left that evening he'd lifted the lid and run his fingers over the yellowed ivory keys. It was still reasonably in tune. He'd tried a few tentative chords, and then had broken into an old forties ballad. Old heads had lifted up, sparks of interest appearing in watery eyes. A warbly voice had begun to sing quietly, and a lighter ladies voice had joined in. It had been a shame to stop but Paul had a bus to get and a curfew to keep. As he gathered his coat the matron stopped him, hand on his arm.  
"You play?"  
"Er ... yeah, a bit."  
"Is the piano any good?"  
"Oh, it's alright. Needs a tune though."  
"So .. if I get it tuned? Will you play for them?"  
Paul's mind flicked rapidly through it's memory store of oldies. "Sure .. I don't mind."  
The matron smiled at him. "Wonderful. It will be done."

It became highlight of their day, and of Paul's. First time they had a sing-song. Then it turned out a few had been in choirs and could sing parts. Before long Paul had put a makeshift choir together and they were romping along in rusty four-part harmony.  
Paul LOVED his day at the home. The residents loved him. Steve received heart-warming stories from the matron on how the young man had brought new life and spirit into their existence. One Sunday afternoon Paul towed John along for an impromptu visit. Playing some fifties rock and roll a few couples got up to dance, watched by bemused nursing staff. John, eyebrows quirked in amusement, felt an imperial tap on his arm, and turned to look at the immaculately dressed elderly lady next to him.  
"Young man, I require you to dance with me."  
Amazed at himself and at her temerity John held out his hand and helped her up.  
She suddenly grinned at him, an impish smile appearing. "You might need to catch me though ... I'm a bit rusty."


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> George's birthday, and George reminisces

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year

God but it had been a busy day at the shop, and then when they'd got home Ritchie had been called in to work as the hospital were short of staff, and it turned out that the groceries were getting low and whatever Paul and John had considered cooking for tea at least one ingredient was missing and they couldn't afford a takeaway Domino's pizza and eventually in frustration John had slung his jacket back on and headed out into the cold dark drizzly night to get some supplies. He'd stopped to give Paul ... who was looking slightly disturbed at his boyfriend's budding temper .. a reassuring peck on the cheek. John inwardly reminded himself, as he had to do frequently through a day, to try not to show frustration or anger in front of Paul lest Paul transfer that emotion to an inadequacy on his part. Eggshells, John, eggshells, he reminded himself.  
"How about you get the kettle on, eh? I'll just nip to Sainsbury's and get something. Anything you fancy?"  
Paul looked rather worried and shook his head. He didn't want to get John any more riled up.  
John heaved a sigh. He paused, took a deep breath. He closed his eyes for a moment. This is Paul, he reminded himself. He took another deep breath, and opened his eyes to find Paul staring at him anxiously.  
John lowered his voice, calmed his actions. He pulled Paul into his arms.  
"It's not you ... okay? I'm not mad at you. It's just ..." John waved his right hand around in the air "..the situation. No food. Tired. Hungry. Okay?"  
Paul's eyes were still anxiously fixed on his, but he nodded.  
John gave a wry smile. "I'm not good when I'm hungry. You should know that by now. Look, I'll be back in a minute, okay? You get the heating on 'cos it's bloody freezing in here, make yourself a cuppa an' before you know it I'll be back. Okay?"

Why was Sainsbury's so crowded? Why did everyone feel the need to do their shopping at six thirty? Why did parents have to drag tired squealing children in school sweat shirts around with them? And bloody trolleys. Couldn't even get near to the shelves with trolleys parked every which way, and if that little boy didn't stop pretending he was on a formula one circuit and charging down the aisle John really was going to say something, and ...  
"Are these yours, love?" A friendly brash Scouse accent stopped him in his tracks, and he came face to face with an assistant holding out a box of chocolates that must have slipped from someone's trolley. A dimpled smile accompanied the box she held towards him. Her eyes were wide and ... my God, she reminded him of Paul. Same colour hair, same eyes.   
John swallowed. "Er ... sorry. No. I didn't pick any up."  
Her smile grew. "Oh right. I'll just put them back. Pity. A real bargain ... they go out of date in a couple of days. Left over from the Valentines day stock, y'know. They cost a lot originally but the stores clearing 'em out. Selling 'em for ninety nine p. A proper bargain. Think I'll get meself some."  
Her eyes widened even more as John suddenly snatched them out of her hand. "Tell y' what, though, love ... I'll have 'em."  
She giggled ... Amy, the tag said her name was. "Who's the lucky lady then, or are you gonna eat them all?"  
Paul's face swam into vision, superimposed on top of Amy's smiling one.  
"Ah ... wouldn't you like to know."  
With an appraising look at him, she dimpled again. "Well ... I get off at eight if you're looking to share?"  
John gave an apologetic smile. "Sorry, love, I'm already taken."  
She held on to her smile "Well, y' can't win 'em all. Enjoy your chocolates."  
'I'm already taken.' How naturally that had come to John's lips. He glanced at the chocolates. The best before date had a few days to go, and he doubted if Paul would let them lie around that long anyway. He popped them in his basket, imagining how Paul's eyes would light up at the sight of such a treat.

Warmth met him as he opened the front door. Paul must have whacked the heating up. He kicked his shoes off and dumped the shopping bag down at his feet, extracting the box of chocolates out of it. As he opened the door into the tiny living room he came face to face with Paul who'd been listening out for his return.  
"John, I made ..."  
"Happy Valentine's Day, love." John thrust the box into Paul's hands.  
Paul halted, his eyes widening as he looked at the gift. The smile blossomed. Christ, thought John, it was worth it just for one of Paul's smiles. He loved to give things to Paul. He chided himself that he didn't often think to though. Because it was a delight to watch Paul's reaction.   
Hazel eyes were raised to John's face. "For me?"  
John had to respond with a wide smile. "For you, love."  
"But .. but .. Valentine's Day was nearly two weeks ago."  
Oh. Ouch. Ah. "Yeah .. well. Better late than never, eh?" John grinned broadly.  
Paul hugged them to his chest. "Thank you."  
Paul stood, rooted to the spot. Quite overcome. John gave him a gentle nudge.  
"Gonna stand in the hall all day are we then?"  
Paul blinked and started. "Oh. Oh, no. Right. I .. er .. I made you a cup of tea. It might have gone a bit cold, but we could microwave it up."  
John shook his head in bemusement. "We could if we had a microwave."  
Paul's eyes widened even more if that were possible. "We don't?"  
John shook his head, picking up the bag. "Nope. Show's how often you do the cooking round here."

An hour later, perched on the settee with sausage and chips liberally covered in brown sauce, Paul broached the subject he'd been wanting to raise all day.  
"John?"  
John's eyes were glued on the telly watching the eight o' clock news, the events of the day being played out in front of him in flickering frames.  
"Mmm?" He stuffed a piece of sausage in his mouth, half an ear to Paul.  
"So .. wondered ... next week .. could we ... I'd need .. if you would ...what .."  
A frown creased John's face. He chewed his sausage, his left ear zoning out Paul's stream of words, trying hard to focus on the newsman talking about Syrian refugees and boat people and bomb attacks in far off cities. It took a few moments to filter through to him that he could no longer hear Paul. It took him another few seconds to become aware of a loaded silence. Swearing silently, he turned to face Paul who was watching him, eyebrow raised, an expectant look on his face.  
Shit. Fuck. Shit. John tried to rewind the babble that had been running in his left ear but nothing would replay. He closed his eyes, and threw a silent prayer to heaven. God get me out of this. Please.  
"Well, yeah, that'll be fine, I'm sure."  
Paul's face lit up. He'd had a feeling John hadn't been listening to him. He knew he tended to witter on, but ...   
"That's great. Thank you. I'd best check with Ritchie too, hadn't I? I mean .. it's his house."  
John nodded emphatically. Yeah .. check with Ritchie and then I can find out what I've just endorsed. Good idea that. He applauded his internal thinking and cast a grateful prayer of thanks to the heavens or god or whoever.

It turned out ... as Ritchie later explained to John ... that it was going to be George's birthday and it fell on a Sunday and Paul knew ('cos he now had a phone of course and was always texting George) that George had the day off and was going to his mam's for dinner but would be free later. And he ... Paul ... wanted to cook a meal for George. After all, George had cooked lots for him. In fact ... Paul ruminated, chewing his thumb nail ... he'd cooked ALL of Paul's food. Paul realised, with a jolt, that he'd never cooked for George. He'd cooked for John a couple of times and ... well, John hadn't died, had he? His cooking couldn't be THAT bad, could it?  
John nudged him. "So ... what y' gonna make then?"  
Paul didn't know. His mind was blank. It had been an idea. He hadn't thought about the fact he needed to follow one idea up with another idea.  
He looked at John. He scanned the familiar face hoping for inspiration. What was he good at? Eggs? Toast? Was that really it? Oh ... and a basic veggie stir fry. Maybe more than that was called for when it was an occasion. Like George's birthday. Definitely an occasion.  
John hid a smile. He could almost hear the cogs whirring in Paul's brain. Bless him ... he loved putting the lad on the spot like this.  
"So ... coq au vin with a mozzarella salad? Hmm?"  
Paul knew he was being teased. He batted John round the ears. "No. No because George is vegetarian."  
John nodded. "Of course. Well, that alters the options quite a bit, I'd ha' thought."  
Paul shifted nervously from foot to foot, the movement eventually becoming a rhythm.  
He looked appealingly at John. "I don't know."  
"Don't know what?"  
"What to do."  
"Well ... you make a passable veggie stir fry."  
Passable. Paul latched on to the word passable. Not amazing. Not fantastic. Not oh so tasty to die for I'd go to the ends of the earth for a portion veggie stir fry. Just ... passable.  
"It needs to be more than that, John."  
"Google it."  
Paul frowned, not following. "What?"  
"Google it. Google 'simple vegetarian meals that even an idiot can make' and see what comes up."  
Paul halted, chewing his lip. Was John joking? About the idiot bit?  
John poked him on the nose and Paul scrunched up his face in the way John found so endearing ... except he didn't know John found it endearing. He just knew John kept doing that to him.   
"Come on, Paulie, let's go surf the net for idiotproof meals, eh?"

George rang the doorbell, and before hardly a second had passed it was flung open and Paul was there, his face flushed from cooking, his dark eyes sparkling. George's mouth split open in a wide grin at the sight of an exuberant Paul. This ... this was how he remembered Paul from their childhood ... full of life and energy and fizz. Paul yanked George inside the house by his arm, and then pulled him into a tight hug. George's memory was hurled back by the feel of those arms around him, the smell that surrounded him, Paul's voice .. ever on the edge of excitement.  
"Happy birthday, Georgie."   
Extricating himself from Paul's arms George gave Paul's back a pat. Words failed him at how pleased he was to see Paul ... really see him ... looking himself ... looking alive and ..  
"Happy birthday Geo," John was there hand outstretched, then Ritchie bobbing behind them all. George and Ritchie exchanged knowing glances. It had taken a long time to get to this position. Paul, here, among them ... and okay. More than okay. Happy. Bouncing. Talkative .. oh yes ... talkative ...George's brain whirled as he tried to keep up with the unending stream that was issuing from Paul's mouth. George realised he'd become so used to living on his own that it was like being hit by a barrage of noise.  
"So .. John said .. passable .. went on the net ... it's worked ... well, it looks okay .. should be .. made sure.."  
George looked bemused at Paul, and with a smile John hooked his arm around his boyfriend and pulled him in the direction of the kitchen. "Brought any gaffa tape with you George? Just so I can shut him up for a bit?"  
Paul squirmed in John's arms. "Hey, let me go .. I was only telling George .."  
"Give the poor bloke time to get in the house. He's only been here for two minutes and he's already got hearing loss in one ear."  
Pouting, Paul whacked John over the head with the wooden spoon he was holding. The fact that it had tomato puree on it had escaped Paul's notice, and his eyes widened in dismay when he saw a drip of it slide off John's fringe. John let out a mock growl of horror and Paul fled, slamming the kitchen door shut and leaning all his weight against it so John couldn't get in.

"It's stuffed aubergines" Paul explained. He winced a bit. They didn't look exactly like the recipe but they had been difficult to get out of the pan. They'd sort of ... collapsed. And then turned upside down when they fell off the serving spoon. And then fallen apart even more when Paul had tried to right them. Paul gave an apologetic smile at George.  
"They're .. er .. not supposed to look like that" he explained with a shrug.  
George's smile was broad and understanding. "Recipes rarely look the way they're supposed to. Certainly not in the first time of making them either. It usually takes a few goes. Anyway ..." he smiled up at Paul from his place on the settee "it doesn't affect the flavour. I bet they're delicious, Paul."  
He took the tray out of Paul's hands, determinedly ignoring John's muffled giggles which were beginning to become snorts.  
Paul ... astonished at the fact he'd managed to produce anything at all .. hovered expectantly in front of George.   
George was aware of John's giggles, aware of Paul anxiously waiting for him to try some. No pressure, George, he thought to himself, and stuck the fork in. Well .. it was hot. Yup, definitely hot as he burnt his tongue. He breathed out in short little bursts trying to cool the injured appendage, and Paul shot into the kitchen to get him a glass of water.  
"John!! Ritchie chided, as John slowly collapsed, clutching a cushion. "Stop it!! You'll upset Paul."  
John's face was red, and he curled up into a ball, hoping Paul wouldn't notice.  
Paul. His beautiful Paul, with the long legs and the anxious smile, emerging from the kitchen with a glass of water for George.  
Having presented it to his mate, he stood there again, observant.  
Ritchie cleared his throat. "Er .. Paul? Are we eating too?"  
Paul's eyes turned in Ritchie's direction, his mouth falling open in a perfect 0 shape. He fled back into the kitchen.  
John could contain his mirth no longer and simply exploded.  
"John ... shurrup. He'll hear you." Ritchie was frowning, although the corners of his mouth were tugging in a smile too.  
"Let me in on the joke, eh?" George enquired.  
John and Ritchie exchanged glances, then both began talking at once.  
" ..burnt .." " ..had to throw..." "...got another..." "...since seven this morning."  
Now both John and Ritchie were in giggles and George looked at them, perplexed, although the laughter was infectious.  
It turned out that the meal George had been presented with was Paul's third attempt to get it right. The first time he'd put the aubergines in the oven to part bake and had gone upstairs and, having picked up his guitar, had promptly forgotten about them. The smoke alarm bleeping had warned the whole house that smoke was issuing from the kitchen. Once the windows and back door had been open for a bit and the air had cleared Paul had tried again, quite pleased at the fact he'd thought to pick up double the amount of ingredients just in case he'd had a mishap.  
"Paul? Paul, have you used this?"  
Paul looked at the little jar Ritchie was holding and nodded confidently. "Yeah. Salt. They need quite a lot."  
Ritchie grimaced. "It's not salt love. It's powdered garlic."  
Paul looked so deflated John had immediately gone out to Sainsbury's to buy another lot of ingredients.  
Ritchie, fumigating the kitchen of an overpowering smell of garlic, was beginning to think it would have been cheaper to take George out for a meal.  
Anyway. Here they were. Six o' clock and Paul had finally managed to pull it off. Okay .. so they'd collapsed in serving, but they tasted okay. In fact ... Ritchie took another mouthful ... it was bloody tasty. He was going to say something when John looked up in surprise.  
"Fuckin' hell, Macca ... this is awesome."  
Paul's face flushed pink at the praise.  
George held a forkful aloft. "S'really good, mate. Lovely taste. I'll make a suggestion ... as a professional chef, y'know " he winked at Paul " next time place them on baking paper and you can slide them off in order to serve. In that way they won't collapse."  
Next time. Paul latched on to the 'next time'. There'd be a next time then? People actually liked them?  
He glanced over at John and could see the pride in John's face that he ... Paul ... who could do nothing .. who was no one ... not really worth anything ... had actually done this. On his own. A smile spread over Paul's face. He looked at George.  
"Thanks Geo" he whispered.

Tired ... mainly from having been up so early and the stress of making a meal ... a 'proper' meal ... Paul, hugging a cushion, slid down, nestling against John, half an ear to the murmur of conversation going on around him. He yawned widely, and snuggled closer in to the warmth and security of John's side. His eyes began to droop. His ears were tuned to George's voice with it's strong accent that placed him from being around Speke. He gazed at George through his lashes, struggling to keep his eyes open. George's voice had been the only voice Paul had heard for a long time. He had very ... no, make that extremely .. blurry memories of that period. He remembered vaguely making his way to George's flat. How had he known where George had lived? He must have seen George at some point for him to have given Paul an address. But Paul had no memory. The only strong memory he had was that of Luke. Luke's face. Luke's voice. Luke's hands on him. He shifted, uncomfortable at the invasive memory, and instinctively John tightened his hold around the younger man. Paul tried to focus on what George was saying. He was talking about the family ... the family who owned the restaurant ... and the daughter .. George ... Paul started, aware of the fact he'd almost slipped off the settee, to see John smiling at him, and Ritchie and George with knowing looks.  
"Paul, why don't you go to bed? I'm going in a minute 'cos I'm up early tomorrow" Ritchie said.  
Paul didn't want to go to bed. George was here. His best mate. He'd invited him. It would be rude. He wanted to sit and chat to him. Have a drink. Maybe a game of cards. He opened his mouth to say all this but all that came out was a yawn that wouldn't stop and went on and on and ....  
George shot him an amused glance. "Tired after all that cooking, eh?"  
Paul slapped his hand over his mouth, trying to cover up the yawn.  
John poked him in the ribs, causing him to squirm. "Just go to bed, Paul ... I'll be up in a bit."  
Bed. That sounded so nice. Paul stumbled tiredly to his feet, throwing an apologetic smile at George."I ... I .. erm ..." God his brain had already gone to sleep.  
George's smile grew wider. "S'okay, Paul, I enjoyed meself. Must do it again."  
Paul nibbled the edge of his lip. He had so much he wanted to say to George. So much to catch up on. He wanted George to know that he was grateful ... even if he hadn't seemed so at the time ... for George being there for him when he really needed someone. For giving him a place to live. A roof over his head.  
It was as if George read Paul's mind. "Next time why don't you come over to me, eh, and we'll have a good old natter. When you're not so exhausted from all the cooking."  
Paul smiled.

After Paul and Ritchie had retired early to bed, John made a cup of tea for himself and George, and they sat for a moment in companiable silence. John realised, as he gazed into the steaming depths of his mug, that he'd never really been alone with George before. Always one of the others would have been there. George was, after all, Paul's oldest friend and then it was Ritchie who had got to know him. George and Ritchie had soon cemented a deep friendship between each other, drawn together by mutual concern over Paul but later blossoming into an easy relationship. John knew that Ritchie and George met up regularly for a drink and exchanged news. In that way George stayed across Paul's progress.

"So ... what did you really think of the meal?" John enquired by way of starting a conversation.  
George looked at him in surprise, as if he needed to be asked. "Like I said to Paul .. it was good. All the flavours were there. Very good for a first ..."  
"...third..."  
George smiled, modifying his sentence "...third attempt."  
George was astute. He read people easily, and knew the query had simply been John's way of getting a conversation going. George was the kind of person who could sit in silence without feeling the need to initiate small talk, but obviously, he thought to himself, John probably felt duty bound to entertain him as the original host of the evening had retired.  
Well. They had one thing in common. One person, that is.  
"It's good to see Paul looking so well" George offered.  
John shifted in his seat, pride pouring from his person. "It is, isn't it. He's doing really well. Really coming out now. Of course .." he shared a sidelong grin with George "... disadvantage is he never shuts up."  
George burst out laughing. The number of times he could recall when Paul had been in trouble at school for talking in class.  
"Yes ... it's a trait I remember well."  
John gave a small frown. "Not like that when he was living with you then?"  
Dark memories swirled in George's mind. "No. No, he wasn't. He wasn't in a very good place then."  
This was John's chance. Maybe he could fill in some of the detail?  
"What happened?" John's voice was quiet...curious. This boyfriend of his .. he knew some things but .. not everything. He had a feeling no one really knew everything.  
The glance George shot John was penetrating. John felt he was being examined and found wanting.  
George's reply was even quieter. "Why are you asking?"  
John coloured slightly. It wasn't morbid curiosity. He wanted George to know that. He loved Paul and wanted to do his best for him, but there were great gaps in his knowledge. It was so difficult avoiding chasms when you didn't know where the chasms lay. And John knew too that he wouldn't get anywhere with George unless he was truthful.  
John looked down at his hands clasped around the mug. "I .. I love him. I want to help. And I need to know what to avoid."  
George nodded sagely. "Have you spoken to Paul?"  
John inclined his head. "Yeah. And he told me .. told me his story, but ..."  
How could John explain? He knew Paul had probably been as open as he could but John felt that a big chunk of Paul's experience had been denied to him. Sealed. Shut away. John could feel George's eyes on him. "I .. I saw his notebook."  
He heard George draw a breath. Their eyes connected. "You knew about it?"  
George nodded. "Yes, I did. Paul had it with him in his jeans pocket the night he arrived. I just put it safe. I never looked in it."  
There was a hint of accusation in his tone, and John winced. "I've just looked at a couple of pages, no more. I just wanted to try and understand..."  
"Paul's a very private person."  
"Mm .. I know. I do know that."  
There was silence for a moment, as if George was considering. The silence stretched on. And on.  
John stared into his tea mug, afraid of disturbing George's thoughts. A lot balanced on his reaction. John found he was almost holding his breath, waiting, and then ...  
"I don't think there's anything I can tell you that Paul hasn't already"....  
John's hope faded, sinking down, nothing .. no more ..  
"..but I could tell you about when he came to me."  
Like a bubble rising to the surface hope soared again within John. He looked across at George. "Thank you" he mouthed.  
George settled back against the cushions, taking his mind back to that late September day over two years before.  
Unlike Paul, who when he had spoken to John, had kept his voice a monotone drained of all emotion, George's tale was vibrant and painted pictures. John felt as if he was there.   
"I didn't get home until late that night ... a Friday it was. It must have been around eleven thirty, and there was this figure curled up in the doorway. I thought it was a tramp who'd decided to take up residence, then when I looked closer I realised it was Paul. I hadn't recognised him at first .. his hair was long. Really long, down past his shoulders. He was curled up into this tight ball ... he must have been frozen. He only had on a t-shirt and a thin jacket, and he wore no socks either. And it was a cold night. I managed to shake him awake and he just looked at me and said ' can I stay with you for a bit George?' and promptly went back to sleep. I managed to get him up, get his arm round my shoulder, and inside ... he was asleep on his feet ... and got him to lie down on my bed. I don't think he ever really woke. I could have been anyone .. he was out like a light.  
Anyway ... I started to undress him ... " George's voice faltered a little, then picked up again. "He was thin ... I mean, really thin. As if he'd not been eating or been fed properly for ages, and he was covered in bruises " George's eyes flickered over to John, but John was still staring into his mug, only a tic showing he was affected by the story. George sniffed. "He had bruises all over him, particularly on his arms and legs. I didn't really know what to make of it. Also ..also ... "George hesitated, then plunged on " ..I dunno how to put this but he smelt weird. Odd. Not dirty or anything, but as if he'd been shut up somewhere stuffy. Frowsty, my mum would have said. Like old clothes at a jumble sale or summat. So I stripped him down and gave him a wash. He never woke .. just slept through it. I got him to wake up enough to take a drink of water, 'cos .. well .. I knew it was important not to let him dehydrate, and he looked like a fucking skeleton anyway. I didn't want him dying on me. Then I got into bed with him and he curled up against my back and clung to me t-shirt tightly and didn't let go all night. And .. well ... that's how it was for the next couple of weeks. He just slept. I made him things like scrambled eggs and bits that didn't require a lot of effort to eat, made sure he drank an' ... an' there's me going to work at night an' coming home wondering if he's okay an' will he still be there. I didn't tell anyone."  
George turned his head, and met John's eyes. "I didn't tell anyone 'cos I wasn't sure what had gone on. I didn't know if maybe Paul was in trouble and hiding from someone, or if he'd broken the law and was on the run. I didn't tell anyone .. not me mam, not me boss ... no one. It was like I was running two lives. One all above board, the other like it was out of some crime novel."  
John shifted, stretching his legs. It had never occurred to him how it might have appeared to George.  
"It must have been difficult." It was the first words John had spoken and he winced at how inadequate they sounded. He cleared his throat apologetically. "When did he .. er ... snap out of it, so to speak?"  
George frowned, remembering. "I came home one day and he was just sitting there on the settee. Staring into space. Didn't acknowledge me. Didn't say a word. I cut his hair for him .. he didn't object. I stuck him in the shower and turned it on and he just curled up into a ball and let the water run over him. I gave him a shave ..." for a second, humour surfaced. George grinned at the recollection. "You can imagine what that was like. Nearly had a beard."  
John smiled back.  
"I gave him his clothes back 'cos ... well, that's all he had, and he looked at me like I'd committed the biggest sin. I think he must have thought I was throwing him out. So I took them back off him and gave him an old t-shirt of mine and a pair of jogging bottoms and he put them on. Then he went back to sitting on the settee and not talking. And that was the routine for the next few weeks. He slept when I did, got up when I did, ate whatever I put in front of him .. and, thank God, began to put some weight on ... but he didn't talk. Ever. An' there's me ... I'm scanning the papers and listening to the news wondering if I'm sheltering a criminal or something. I mean .. you can laugh about it now, but I had no one I could share it with because I didn't want to let Paul down. Then one night he had a nightmare .. it was awful. I couldn't shake him out of it, and all he kept saying was 'Luke'. Well ... I knew who Luke was. I remember Paul meeting him. Totally bowled over by this guy who showered him with gifts and compliments, I knew he was fucking dodgy from the word go. I was surprised Paul was taken in by him, but since Paul's mum had died I think he'd been looking for someone ... someone that would take him out of all the shite his life had become, and I guess Luke appeared like a knight in shining armour to him. So ... the next day I asked him about Luke. Bloody hell ... Paul went as white as a sheet. I realised that guy was obviously the problem but I didn't know how."  
"When did Paul tell you?"  
George dipped his head. "Dunno, really. There wasn't a definite time. Things came out in bits. Usually when you were least expecting them. You know what Paul's like ... ask him something and he'll clam up, leave it open and he might ... just might ... say something. The first thing Paul told me about was the drugs. I think he needed to get that off his chest. It was something he felt really bad about."  
"Mmm ... I know. He still does."  
"Then he told me about the illicit alcohol that Luke was running too ..."  
"Uh huh."  
"Then, one day .. he just turned round and told me how Luke had got him drunk and made him part of the entertainment."  
Anger boiled within John. He'd known about that, of course. But to hear it again. From George. John tightened his grip around the mug so tightly it suddenly shattered, spraying leftover tea everywhere.  
"Fuck. Fuck. I'm sorry .. I'm ..."  
George's hand was on John's arm. "Its okay. It's okay. I understand. It's difficult, isn't it. It's so good, though, y'know... that you came into his life. You were just what Paul needed .. he just wanted someone to love him. That's all Paul ever wanted. Someone to be with."  
George's words were like daggers into John's heart, piercing, hurting. He turned to George, almost startling the younger man with his action.  
"But I was no better. I was no better than anyone else. When I first met Paul I just used him. I treated him like crap." The words burst out of John as he berated himself.  
George's eyes widened in surprise. He had no idea. This was news to him. His hand fell off John's arm, fingers trembling.  
"What?"  
John looked at him, begging him to understand. "The first time I met Paul .. I .. I picked him up in some bar, and I brought him back here and .. and ..." John covered his face with a shaking hand, remorse tearing through him.   
George tightened his lips. He sighed. "We all make mistakes, John."  
John snorted. "Yeah. And me the biggest one of all. I could have wrecked the rest of our lives together."  
"But you didn't, did you. You didn't. Paul's here, with you, now. I'm sure he'll have forgiven you, John. He's not the kind to hold grudges. Anyway .. he loves you. Covers everything, doesn't it, love."  
John smiled at George. "Anyone told you you ought to be a counsellor, or .. or a pope or summat."  
George burst out laughing, the sound hale and hearty. As the chuckles died down, George looked seriously at John. "So .. did I tell you anything you didn't already know?"  
John shook his head. "No, not really. Clarified a few things maybe, but .."  
"So ... just take Paul as he is. Maybe some things are best left unspoken. And maybe, in time, Paul might tell you. You never know. And if he doesn't ... well, he's still Paul, isn't he, and does it make a difference?"  
John shook his head. "Put like that, no."

Later .. much later... after George had gone, John made his way slowly upstairs. Paul was curled up in bed, breathing soft and even. He'd left the bedside lamp on so John could see his way round the room. A smile twinged across John's face at the sight of the tie that Paul had neatly laid across John's pillow, trusting him to remember to tie them together for the night. Three months down the road and Paul was still worried about sleep walking. John watched his partner sleeping, and pushed a clump of tangled hair out of Paul's eyes.  
"I love you, y' daft bugger," John murmured, pressing a kiss to the cheek facing him. An incoherent mumble answered him. John sighed, swiping away a solitary tear that had, for reasons unknown to him, made it's way down his face.


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A new home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you folks for the comments. Glad to know you're enjoying it.

John woke because something was tickling his nose. Not that he realised that for a moment. It took a few seconds of dawning reality and the tickle occurring again to finally drag him from a warm cocoon into consciousness. Even then the various elements made their appearance slowly. Firstly he was aware of a warm weight on his chest. He drowsily raised his right hand and arm, which were almost pinned under an identical weight and warmth, and his fingers met a body. A body that was lying on him. Then the tickle happened again, and he blearily opened one eye in time to see a strand of something rise and fall in his outward breath. Could it be a spider? He opened both eyes and realised the dark strand was Paul's hair. And the weight across his chest was Paul's body. A lazy smile drew itself across John's face. That was an amazing feat of Paul's ... to have maintained his position all night on top of John. Usually he would have slid off. John raised his other hand and flattened down the irritating piece of hair. Then he became aware of the lightness of the room. Fab. That meant, with any luck, it wasn't raining then. John smoothed down the annoying hair on Paul's head again and exhaled a breath. Maybe he'd just have to carry on sleeping holding Paul's hair then. He sighed contentedly. There were worst things he could think of to do. Of course, when he drifted back off to sleep Paul's hair would no doubt start rising and falling with each breath John took once more. He lay there, debating how to settle this conundrum. Shame to tip the poor lad off him. After all, it WAS an amazing feat .. to have maintained that position all night. Shame to deprive Paul of such an achievement. Of course, he'd have to move Paul eventually. When the alarm went off. When they had to get up for work. It had been so nice having George round last night. John lay there stroking Paul's hair absent mindedly, as if petting a cat, and Paul shifted a little, burrowing even tighter onto John's chest as if by strength of will alone he could make himself part of the other man. George was a good guy, John mused. So laid back. So wise. So all-seeing. John thought dreamily about him. Nothing seemed as if it could go wrong when George was around. John lazily decided that George should have a magic wand. He, John, would whittle it for him, and George would be able to wave it around and make everything alright. Make everything alright for everybody. Well ... the deserving ones, at least.   
John's eyes followed a weak stray sunbeam that lit the top of Paul's head, picking out red lights in the dark hair, painting a glow on the naked shoulders, catching the top of the alarm clock, and .....  
"FUCK!!!!"  
John shot up in bed, and Paul slid off with a thump, landing on his face.  
"OophfuckwassamataJohnforoomph".  
John didn't try to translate Paul's muffled sentence. He shook the naked figure roughly.  
"Paul ... Paul, for Chrissake, it's nearly ten past nine ... wake up .. "  
Paul extricated himself from underneath John, his hair wild, his eyes wide. "What?"  
John, one leg already straddled across Paul's body in an attempt to exit the bed without delay, gestured at the clock.  
"Ten past fucking nine. We open up in twenty minutes."  
John clambered over Paul's body, managing to kick him in the stomach in his haste. He grabbed his phone and began punching digits in, all the time issuing instructions to a bemused and only half awake Paul.  
"Get summat on quick ... no, your own, not mine .." as Paul's hand instinctively reached for John's cast off t-shirt "...I'm ordering a taxi for in ten minutes ..."  
Paul's hand halted, suspended, over John's t-shirt, his mind struggling to make sense.  
"Get dressed, Paul ... then grab us a croissant or summat.... Hello, Rosemount? Yeah .. in ten minutes. Thanks. Yeah, we are ... overslept."  
John flipped his phone closed and looked at Paul, who had frozen, hand still poised over John's t-shirt discarded on the bed, staring befuddled at John.  
"Come on, love" John coaxed "they'll be here in a few minutes."  
John threw all of Paul's clothes from the previous day at him, and Paul wrinkled his nose.  
"I can't wear these .. they smell of cooking. I really need a shower ..." his voice was beseeching, but John shook his head.  
"No time, Paulie. Cab'll be here."  
John began pulling on any item that came to hand, somewhat distracted by the fact Paul had knelt back on his heels and was watching him, no attempt to move having been made.  
John heaved a sigh. "Paul ... come on. We've a shop to open."  
"I am ... but ... John, I need a pee."  
John waved a jumper at him. "Okay .. go, then. I'm gonna grab you summat an' you can stick it on going out the door, right?"  
Quickly Paul slid off the bed, a lithe naked figure that disappeared through the doorway, whose footsteps could be heard pattering down the stairs.  
Swearing blithely to himself, John swiftly gathered an outfit together for Paul, remembering at the last minute to pick up Paul's shoes ... couldn't have the lad going out barefoot.  
John fled down the stairs, bundle of clothes in hand, dropping one of the shoes which tumbled in front of him to rest at the foot of the bannisters.  
Outside, the taxi sounded it's horn. John swore again, realising he too was desperate for a pee. As he darted in the direction of the bathroom he was met by the figure of Paul heading back in that direction, still naked as the day he was born but with a distinctly soapy aura surrounding him. John looked at him in dismay in passing.  
"Have you stopped for a wash?"  
Paul shot him a disarming grin as he headed towards his bundle of clothes.  
"Don't want to go out smelly."  
"Fuck, Paul ... we just need to get there. Shove summat on quick and get out to the taxi." John fled to the loo.  
Hopping around on one foot, trying to get socks on, Paul was only too aware of the taxi sounding its horn again. He hated going out in a hurry. Hated not being able to shower and shave. And .. oh fuck ... he'd forgotten to grab the croissants John had asked for, and now the taxi driver was sounding frantic. Paul dragged a jumper over his shirt, not stopping to do any buttons, and shoved his feet into his shoes, not doing up laces either. John came charging through and, catching his coat off him, Paul fell into step behind John as they tumbled together out of the front door and into the waiting cab.  
"Overslept, have we, eh?" chuckled the taxi driver.  
Paul looked at John, who was looking wide eyed with auburn tufts of hair doing their own thing on top of his head, and wondered dazedly if he looked the same.  
"Twenty five past nine" John whispered ... who to was anyone's guess ... "Can't believe I was in bed only fifteen minutes ago."  
John took a deep breath and gazed across at Paul. A smile flitted across Paul's face, then a muffled giggle, next moment he broke out laughing.  
John looked at him in amazement. "What's caught your fancy then?"  
Paul couldn't speak for laughing. He waved his hand over the top of John's head. John's lips quirked in an answering grin, and he firmly pulled his beanie over the top of his misbehaving hair.  
"Think I look odd ... should see yourself, mate."  
Paul's giggles subsided as he tentatively patted the top of his dark head. Well .. it all FELT okay??  
John poked him on the nose. Paul scrunched his face up. Then they both burst out laughing.

Nearly twenty to ten. Ten minutes late opening. Could have been worse. Not that there was a queue of customers, but all the same. They were supposed to be open at nine thirty.  
John juggled the keys, first getting the wrong one, then with his fumbling fingers getting the right one upside down and jamming it. Finally, he managed to get the door open, and they pushed anxiously through the door, Paul flipping on the lights quickly so that at least the shop looked open. John hadn't even had time to turn the sign to open before the phone rang. Paul cast an anxious glance at John. John frowned as he picked up the phone ... he'd never yet fathomed out why Paul didn't like answering. After all, he was getting quite confident and knowledgeable now ...  
"Hello, Retro Records. Can I help?"  
John pulled a face at Paul, wiggling his eyebrows, and Paul broke out into a smile.  
"Sorry, not at the moment. We should be getting some new stock in shortly. If you leave me a contact number I'll let you know if we have any Bobby Darin amongst them, or when our manager is out getting new stock he can have a search. Yeah, sure, no problem ... hang on, I'll just get some paper .." John waggled his fingers at Paul, who darted around the shop picking up pencils and paper and passed them to John. Once John had taken details and bid farewell to the caller, he replaced the receiver and looked over at Paul, who was busy trying to button his shirt.  
"Hey, Macca, get the kettle on, eh? And let's have a croissant or summat ... I'm starving."  
Paul's face dropped a mile. "I ... er .. I forgot ... I'm sorry. Well ... I DID remember, but there wasn't time .." Paul chewed his lip anxiously. " 'm sorry, John."  
John sighed. "Ah well. Okay ... I'll nip over to Butties and get us some doughnuts or something, yeah?" Paul nodded, his smile picking up again. "You ..." John pointed a finger at him " make tea."  
By the time John got back there was a cup of tea sitting on the side for him and Paul was busy serving a customer. He looked up with relief at the sight of John, who gave him a reassuring smile. Paul didn't really like being left on his own in the shop ... John supposed he ought to be able to understand that. All the same the chance of anyone coming into the shop who had known Paul before was very slim, but then again it had happened once, with Mark, so it was probably understandable that Paul could get a bit jittery.  
John took a sip of his tea, watching Paul close the purchase with the customer.  
He really was very proud of his partner. John felt he should tell Paul that more often. He'd overcome a lot of obstacles in the last few months. And dealing with other people had been one of the biggest.  
As the door closed behind the customer, John thrust a paper bag into Paul's hands.  
"Doughnut. Eat. Keep you going."  
Paul's smile dimpled as he took the bag gratefully, his stomach suddenly letting out a rumble. They both chuckled.  
Paul bit into the doughnut, catching the jam that dripped with his fingers before it went over anything,  
"Me mam used to buy doughnuts as a treat .. on a Saturday. We'd have them after ... after ..." The sentence had started out in a rush of memories, then Paul's voice petered out, his eyes darkening.  
John leapt in quickly. "I've always loved 'em. Me auntie said they were no good for me, that they'd make me fat and me teeth rot and drop out."  
Paul's smile picked up again, and John breathed a sigh of relief. He watched Paul lick the sugar off the ends of his fingers. It was a remarkably erotic action, even if the lad didn't realise. Paul sensed John's eyes on him and gave a hesitant smile.  
"Okay?"  
John moved nearer to him, slipping his arm around Paul's waist, noting the incorrectly buttoned up shirt. "More than okay." He nipped Paul's ear. "Fucking brilliant."  
"Okay, lads, okay. Save your making out sessions for when you get home, will you?"  
At the sound of Rob's voice they leapt apart, Paul's face flooding with colour. He sounded stern but there was a twinkle in his eye nonetheless.  
"John, I want you to shut the shop up at noon and you and Paul come upstairs. Jacob and I have something we'd like to discuss with you both."  
John felt Paul's eyes swivel to look at him anxiously.  
"Okay, boss, will do. Whatever you say. Er...sorry we were late opening .. we both overslept."  
Rob raised an eyebrow. "Were you? I must say I didn't notice. How late?"  
"Erm ... ten minutes?"  
"So ... not too bad then. Don't make a habit of it Lennon." Rob wagged his finger at John.  
"We won't. Also, someone rang. Looking for Bobby Darin records. I've got a contact number for him."  
Rob nodded. "Ah, right. I'll keep me eye out. Okay ... see you both at noon." Rob vanished through the door that led to the upstairs flat.  
Paul, chewing his lip, looked at John worriedly. "What do you think he wants to see us about?"  
John was puzzled too, but he wasn't going to let his concern filter through to Paul. "Dunno." He shrugged. "Just have to wait and see, won't we."

The proposition Rob and Jacob had for Paul and John was amazing. Fucking awesome. Well ... at least John thought it was. He glanced over at Paul and immediately cottoned on to a less than enthusiastic response, although Paul had put on his perfect no-emotions-showing bland face, so it was impossible to read anything into him. Then, once they were back downstairs, the shop was busy ... and, John couldn't help but notice ... Paul seemed even busier, as if he was avoiding things ... 'things' being John and conversation. It seemed as if the heavens were against John raising the topic with Paul when they closed the shop too as Paul determinedly set his feet for the bus stop, hurrying from the rain that had begun to fall. And then, to top it all, the bus was crowded and they were miles away from each other, and when they dismounted Paul seemed in even more of a hurry to get home, just muttering to John that he needed a pee ... must have been the last cup of tea ... gone straight through him ... but still he wore his mask. It was SO obvious. As soon as they arrived in the house Paul fled upstairs to get changed, saying he needed a shower and a shave seeing as he'd not managed it this morning, and grabbing a towel and a pile of clean clothes he headed to the bathroom, just stopping to throw a brief 'hello' at a puzzled Ritchie, who frowned at not getting his usual run down of the day from their normally talkative housemate.

Once the bathroom door had closed behind Paul Ritchie looked over at John with a frown.  
"What's up? Who got his knickers in a twist?"  
John shrugged, grabbed himself a mug of tea, and beckoned Ritchie into the living room.  
"Rob and Jacob saw us both today" John began, feeling suddenly tired, as if the elation he had felt earlier had drained from him. "They had a proposition for me an' Paul. They'd like us to manage the shop for a year while they go and try their luck abroad ... we can live in the flat rent free, just cope with the bills ourselves .. manage the shop, share the profits, and if all works out for Jacob an' Rob an' they don't come back, he's gonna give us the option of buying the business at a peppercorn rate."  
Ritchie's mouth dropped open. "That ... that's fucking awesome, mate. Bloody hell. It'll give you two somewhere to live an' .." lots of options began to open up as Ritchie absorbed the information " .. Jeez, if you're on the premises Paul'd be able to teach into later in the evening an' he could really build his pupil base, an' .. an' you'd be able to go and visit the record fairs an' .. bloody hell." Ritchie shook his head. "I can hardly believe it. What are they gonna do?"  
John leaned back on the settee, crossing one leg over the other. "They're off to France, south east ... got somewhere to stay. Jacob's handed his notice in with his law firm an' he's got a position to go to helping do the legal bit for Brits wanting to buy houses over there. Rob's gonna suss out the local vinyl scene over there and just do it for fun, 'cos .. well, with Jacob as a partner he doesn't really have to work. He does wanna do something though."  
"And when is all this gonna take place?"  
John blinked, his eyes feeling tired. "July. End of. They figure Paul's sentence will be finished by then and we'll be clear to make a new start. Live where we want, etcetera."  
John sighed. He shook his head. "I dunno how Paul feels about it though. He's not said. Sort of .. shut himself away."  
Ah ha. Ritchie absorbed that fact. He grimaced at John. "Is he worried? Worried about something?"  
John heaved another sigh. "Well, if he'd fucking talk to me I might be able to put his mind at rest, but he's just ..." John slammed his hands together demonstrating Paul's lockdown mood.  
They heard the shower stop running, and both lapsed into silence. Ritchie wasn't sure what to say to John. He felt for him, but ... he felt for Paul too. There were lots of issues that young man struggled with, even if to all intents and purposes he was doing so much better lately. And John ... John wasn't the most patient of people. He would leap in feet first at an opportunity like this ... of course he would. Who could blame him? Ritchie cleared his throat to say something ... not that he was sure what .. when Paul emerged into the room, dripping wet, a towel slung around his hips, his face looking slightly sore from a belated shave. His eyes swung between Ritchie and John, picking up immediately on the mood that permeated the room. He still wore a bland mask, although Ritchie could see a flicker of anxiety in the hazel eyes.  
Ritchie stepped in quickly. "Feel better then? I understand you both overslept? That this morning's shower you've just had, eh?"  
Paul nodded,beginning to chew his lip. Ritchie saw him cast a worried glance at John before heading upstairs, still clutching his clean clothes. John hadn't acknowledged him. Not deliberately ... although Paul read it like that ... but because he was lost in his thoughts. Ritchie looked at the morose figure.  
"Talk to him, John" he whispered.  
John looked over at him in surprise. "Talk to him? I've been trying to fucking talk to him. Anyone would think I've got the plague."  
"Well, try again ... but don't barge in like a bull, eh? He'll only clam up all the more."  
John's lips twitched. "A bull? Me a bull?"  
Ritchie grinned. "Yeah, you. You know you are. Give him time to explain. Something's worrying him."  
John pushed himself to his feet with a groan. "Jesus Christ, that kid'll be the death of me."

When John entered their bedroom he found Paul curled up on the bed, his back to the door, the towel still around him. It was impossible to see if he was awake or asleep, although John doubted it was the latter. He sat on the edge of the bed and it dipped, and Paul shifted his position further onto the mattress. The room was still in the scene of devastation they'd left it in that morning, clothes everywhere, bed unmade. Then John noted, with a touch of amusement, Paul had picked up John's discarded t-shirt, the one he'd forbade him to put on that morning, and was clutching it under his chin, near to his chest.  
"Paul?"  
A knee shifted in response, a little wriggle.  
"Paul, love, will you talk to me?"  
The t-shirt made it's way up to Paul's face and he buried himself into it. Even as John watched Paul drew his knees up closer to his chest, folding himself into a perfect ball.  
He could have been amused ... he WAS amused, but ... something wasn't right. He grasped Paul firmly by the shoulders and tried to turn him, but Paul was equally determined in his effort to remain a tight ball. Now John was getting worried. He lowered his hands to Paul's upper arms and yanked forcefully. He felt Paul struggle, and naked skin that was still damp could be slippery too, so John set his teeth, dug his fingers in, and tugged, aware of the fact he'd probably leave bruises on that fair skin. Paul came suddenly, like a cork from a bottle, slithering into John's arms, the t-shirt still pressed against his face.  
For a moment John just held him, aware of the fact Paul was shaking, his shoulders trembling under John's touch. Paul had buried his face, t-shirt still covering it, onto John's shoulder. It took a few seconds for the dampness to seep through. It hit John forcefully ... Paul was crying.   
John tightened his arms around Paul's body.  
"Hey, hey, ssh, come on. What the fuck's the matter? For Chrissake, Paulie, talk to me. What's up? Is it 'cos of today? What Rob said?"  
There was an imperceptible nod, the dark hair wet against John's neck.  
"It's a fantastic opportunity for us. For you an' me. Our own place. A new start. What you worrying about? Hmm?"  
One of Paul's hands slipped round the back of John's neck, the fingers stroking the tufty auburn hair that grew there. John shivered at the feel of Paul's fingers caressing him.  
He sighed. God he loved this lad, and if Paul didn't want to ...  
"I'm scared."  
John started in surprise. He hadn't expected Paul to reply. He gathered his scattered wits together.  
"Scared? What have you got to be scared about?"  
Paul's fingers continued to stroke John's hair, but the shaking had stopped. At least for a moment. He heard Paul draw a deep breath.  
The voice was mumbled into John's shoulder. John strained to catch the barrage of words that suddenly spilled from Paul's lips. "I'velivedinaflatbefore .. youcan'tgetout ..Lukesaid..itwasokay...buthegotfedup..I'mnotanygood...I'mnotworthanything...itmighthappenagain..Ican't..Ican'tdoit.." It was a string of words, almost incoherent. John's arms tightened around Paul even as Paul's hand tightened around John's neck. John was aware of a damp warmth seeping through the t-shirt and Paul's shoulders quietly shaking again.  
John tightened his lips. Fucking Luke again. How this dead man haunted them. Jesus, if he was alive John would strangle him for the way he'd fucked up Paul's life.  
He tried to ease Paul off him but Paul was now clinging round John's neck, unwilling to let go. Embarrassed at the fact he'd come apart but unable to hold back his fears.  
Paul was scared. How could he get John to understand that? The flat. Upstairs. No way out. No door to outside. The commitment. Oh Paul loved John. Yes. But what if ... what if ... what if John got fed up of him? Then he'd be trapped. Caught. Just like before. He couldn't go through all that again. He couldn't live through all that again.  
In that moment, John made a decision. It cost him everything, but Paul was worth more to him than that.  
"Okay. Okay. I'll tell Rob tomorrow it's a no go." He kissed the top of Paul's damp hair. "If you don't want to, that's fine. Okay? That's alright. Whatever you want, love."  
Paul stilled within his arms. Froze.  
He pulled back, and looked at John, his lashes wet and clumped together, tear trails down his cheeks. Wonderment in his eyes.  
"You'd turn it down? For me?"  
John swiped a stray tear from off Paul's cheek with his thumb. "For you I'd do anything. You must know that."  
A watery smile struggled across Paul's face. "It's a fantastic opportunity." He echoed John's words of a moment before.  
John's face was serious, though. "Not if you don't want to do it, it isn't. You're worth more than that."  
Paul's eyes were flittering across John's face. "You don't hate me for ...?.."  
John's hand tightened on Paul's, grasping the fingers, squeezing. "I'll never hate you. How can you say that? I love you."  
"But .. but .. you wanted to do this."  
John sighed. Paul couldn't remember the last time he'd ever seen him look so serious. "Paul, we're a partnership. A permanent partnership." Permanent. Paul latched on to those words with excitement and a little thrill stole through his body. He tightened his hold around John's hand and forced himself to concentrate on John's words. "If one of us doesn't like something, doesn't fancy an idea, then we don't do it. Simple as that. My name is not fucking Luke Stanton. I'm never going to do anything to you or with you that you don't want. Got it? Understand?"  
Paul's eyes were fixed firmly onto John's face. Yes, he could feel the urgency in John's words. Paul nodded quietly. With a small sigh he sank his head back on John's shoulder.  
"I'm fucking hopeless, aren't I?"  
John shook his head, the movement tickling Paul's cheek. "You are not hopeless. I don't know whoever told you that, but one thing you are not is hopeless. You are clever and talented and ... different."  
Paul pulled back, looking at John, and realised John had a teasing smile on his face. "You are certainly different. But you're not boring, and I wouldn't have you any other way."  
Paul's head sank back down on John's shoulder. He was suddenly really tired, but he was also suddenly really happy. Little words of John's kept repeating themselves in his head. Words like 'permanent'. He sighed. He dropped the now decidedly damp t-shirt. He snaked his arms around the back of John's neck.   
"Thank you." The words were soft, a moist whisper onto John's collarbone.

John woke in the dark of the night to Paul thrashing about, caught in the throes of a nightmare from which he couldn't escape. Slowly, slowly, John pulled him out of it, holding the sweaty body against him as Paul struggled to dispel the memories that had come flooding back. John didn't say anything, just held him tightly. He felt guilty. He knew it was the talk of them taking over Rob and Jacob's flat that had caused a resurgence of unhappy memories for Paul. He stroked Paul's back soothingly until, finally, he felt Paul's full weight against him as the lad drifted back off to sleep. John lay him down, and Paul sighed, rolling over onto his side, fingers automatically seeking John. He was soon fast asleep again, but John lay awake, his mind buzzing. This was yet another issue. Paul obviously couldn't cope with the idea of living in an upstairs flat. John chewed on his thumb, pondering. How many other hidden issues did Paul have? This was one that would never have occurred to John. It affected enormously the problem of finding somewhere to live. John had an amusing picture flood his mind of him and Paul in a few years time still lodging with Lottie and Ritchie and lots of little Ritchie's running about the place. He smiled to himself, then slowly his smile faded. Well, that would just be ridiculous, wouldn't it. So ... it would either have to be a ground floor flat, rather like George had, part of a maisonette, or a house, which would be more expensive. John half-dozed, his arm protectively around Paul, until the alarm began beeping. He reached across Paul's sleeping body and switched it off, and leaning back found Paul observing him from clouded dark eyes, sleep still fogging his vision. At the sight of John a smile curled the corners of Paul's lips.  
"Mornin' Johnny" the words whispered.  
John gave him a squeeze. "Mornin' princess."

Rob was understanding. Almost overwhelmingly so.  
"The shop, no problem" John had explained. "It's the flat. An upstairs flat. Paul can't .. can't ..."  
"It's okay. We can let the flat out. It was a thought. An idea. Nothing else, John. Not worth Paul getting upset over."  
John sighed, thanking God he had a sympathetic boss.  
"It would have been ideal." John mused. "Absolutely perfect. Such a shame."  
Rob drummed his fingers on the table he was leaning on. "Not perfect if one of you is not happy, though, John. Jacob and I haven't taken this decision lightly. We've both had our say. It's how a partnership works."  
John nodded.

When Rob popped into the shop later, Paul glanced at him anxiously. Had he fucked everything up by having a melt down over living upstairs? He'd been chiding himself over it ever since he'd got up that morning and the memory of the previous night had come flooding back. They must think he's stupid. John must think him stupid. To turn down such a chance as this. As he turned back to the records he was tidying he noticed his fingers were trembling. Sometimes he just got so annoyed at himself. Why couldn't he cope with these problems? Other people did.   
'For Christ sake build a bridge and fucking get over it' Paul muttered to himself.  
John, having caught the muttered words as he moved towards Paul with another stack of records, smiled. "Talking to yerself now, eh?"  
Startled, Paul dropped the singles he'd been holding and they rolled, skidded and slid to various parts of the shop, under counters and shelves and up corners. There was a moment's confusion while Paul, John and Rob collected them back up. Handing a pile back into Paul's outstretched hand, Rob caught Paul's eyes. In them he read worry and anxiety, but something else too ... a flash of determination.  
Rob smiled at him, and Paul suddenly burst out "Rob, can I have a look at the flat? I've only ever seen it at night and ... and ... " Paul tailed off, not sure where that had all come from.  
Rob, appearing unsurprised by the request, nodded his head, and took Paul by the elbow "Of course y' can. Come and see it at it's worst in the cold light of day before I've tidied up. We don't have any ghosties or ghoolies, I promise you."  
As Rob steered Paul through the private door that led to the stairs, John stood, dumbfounded. Where the fuck had that come from?

As Paul entered, Jacob, who had been working at the table at a lap top, stood up, holding out his hand to Paul.  
"Paul. Good to see you. Come to have a look around?"  
Behind Paul Rob was pulling lots of faces, gesticulating with eyes and eyebrows and nose and nods and shakes. Jacob calmly raised an eyebrow at him and then chose to ignore him.  
"Come on, I'll show you round while Rob puts the kettle on. What would you like to see first? Shall we start downstairs? Maybe the garden?"  
Paul halted, astonished. "You have a garden?"  
Jacob's smile blossomed. "Well, yes. This is a house. We only use the front part for the business. Maybe that didn't occur to you? It's only a small garden, but it's got a lawn and a flower border. The stairs are off the kitchen, and the little downstairs room we use as a utility room. Come on, I'll show you."

"You never told me!"   
John looked wide eyed at Paul. "Never occurred to me."  
"But .. you can get out. Outside, I mean. There's these stairs behind a door and then there's a room with a washer and a dryer and a lobby for coats and boots and ... and .. there's a lawn. They've got grass."  
John's smile grew. "S'not a new invention, Paul. Lots of people have grass."  
"But .. I mean .. you can get out. Out to the outside. It's not like you're shut up, inside, and no way out."  
John nodded. He was almost holding his breath.  
Paul's hand slipped inside his. Paul's head rested on John's shoulder. This despite the fact they were on a crowded bus on the way home.  
Paul's words were quiet, murmured into John's ear. "I could live there."  
John squeezed his hand, not looking at him. He didn't want to rush Paul. Didn't want to put him under any pressure.  
"You sure? 'Cos, y' know, y' don't have to. Whatever you want."  
He felt Paul nod, his hair tickling John's cheek. "I'm sure. As long as I can get out."  
John toyed with Paul's fingers. "Why? What d'you think I'm gonna do to you?" He said it jokingly, but felt a shiver run through Paul's body. Whoops. Watch your words, Lennon.  
John sighed. "Think about it, Paul, eh? We don't have to let them know yet. They're not going until July. I want you to be certain this is what you want. Okay?"  
He felt Paul nod again. "Okay."


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stu arrives in the picture ( picture .. pun ... get it? ah well )  
> Someone from Paul's past turns up too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This has been a very bitty chapter to write. Hope it flows okay.

For the next few days Jacob kept popping down into the shop and taking Paul back upstairs with him with the pretence of 'just showing him something'. John smiled to himself. Why on earth show Paul the intricacies of their ultra-modern cooker? The lad was not likely to be doing much cooking. At least ... John leaned on the counter, musing ... not yet. Maybe, if Paul actually put his mind to it, he could turn out to be a passable cook. Yes? No. John shook his head. Too many distractions around for Paul, particularly if they were living above the shop with a piano in reach just downstairs. In fact, John thought, he could foresee a few lonesome nights ahead where he'd be left doing the cooking while Paul played the piano. Well, definitely have to put his foot down there!   
Jacob had a hidden agenda though. It was to make Paul feel at ease within the confines of the flat and to allow him to familiarise himself with it. Rob was aware of that, and left him to it. For some reason unknown to Rob, Paul always seemed relaxed when he was with Jacob. He seemed to trust him. So Jacob showed Paul around, carefully pointing out little aspects that he thought Paul would find useful or helpful. Like the fact there was a CCTV in the flat so that it was possible to see who was at the downstairs door before answering. Jacob had a feeling it was the kind of thing Paul might find reassuring. The one thing that appealed most to Paul though was the fact there was a garden. A bit soggy and rain-drenched at the moment but a garden none the less. Most of Paul's visits ended with him having a quick glance outside. Just to reassure himself he could get out. He wasn't going to be stuck upstairs. He wasn't going to be ... Paul shivered, and turned to look at Jacob who was waiting at the door for him, a knowing look on his face.  
"It's a Yale lock" Jacob pointed out "so you don't need a key to get out." It was a concern of Paul's he'd picked up on. He reckoned he understood why too. "You just have to make sure you don't shut yourself out though, that's the only thing. Otherwise you'll be scaling the wall." He indicated the tall red brick wall at the back. "There is a gate .. can you see it? It's in the far corner and it leads into the gully at the back ... it's where the dustbin is ... but it's kept locked. The key hangs in the utility room. It's the big old one that looks like it belongs in a Victorian novel."  
Paul smiled at Jacob's words, and Jacob returned the smile.  
"So" he asked softly " do you think you'll be happy here? Would you feel secure?"  
Paul's eyes widened. Had he been that transparent? Had John said something? Did everyone think he was a nut case?  
"It's really important to be happy in your place of residence. Rob and I have had some fun times here." Jacob fiddled with the lock on the door, his eyes soft. "I shall almost be sorry to leave."  
Paul listened, unsure if he should reply.  
Jacob straightened up, pushing himself away from the door jamb. "But .. time for another chapter. And if you two guys are living here, we can always come back and visit."  
Paul hesitated, suddenly shy. "You .. you'd always be welcome."  
Jacob beamed at him encouragingly. "I'm sure we would Paul. Now .. I have some work to finish, so ..."   
Paul started. "Oh .. oh, yeah. Sorry." He cast a last look around the garden. It would be lovely in the summer. Somewhere to sit out. Somewhere to breathe fresh air. Not shut up. Not locked away. Not ...  
Jacob saw a myriad of emotions cross Paul's face. He waited patiently for the young man to gather himself together. Paul shivered, but it wasn't from the cold. Change. Change could be a scary thing. Going from the security he'd known firstly at George's, then Ritchie's, to being on his own here with John. He still couldn't believe that John wouldn't get fed up of him. Find him inadequate in some way. What if ... what if ...Paul drifted for a moment, his eyes glazing. Jacob noted the lapse. He moved quietly to Paul's side.  
"So ... would you like a cup of tea to take down to the shop?"   
Paul visibly jumped, and swiftly collected himself together. "Oh, no, it's okay, thanks. I .. I should get back. I left John on his own."  
Jacob smiled. "I'm sure John can manage. Anyway ... I need to get back to work, so ..."  
Paul nodded, and slipped back into the house, scanning the stairs that led to the upstairs flat.  
"The door ... the door at the top? Does it lock?"  
Jacob, pulling the back door to, shook his head. "No, Paul, it's just an ordinary door, such as you'd find in any house. It doesn't lock. No need."  
Paul absorbed the information quietly."That's good" he murmured, running his fingers along the smooth bannister.  
Jacob winced. It was frightening how many demons this lad carried inside him.

Even before Paul opened the door that linked from the flat into the shop, he could hear John's voice talking animatedly to someone. Someone who, judging by the few words he caught, had not long entered. Curious, Paul pushed the door open and saw a guy wearing black leather. He was attractive in an ethereal way, his hair swept back, high cheekbones, long fingers. His eyes were alive with intelligence and amusement and ... Paul halted, unsure. John was responding to him. Equally alive. Equally vibrant.  
Paul didn't like him. He had no idea why, but he didn't like him. He pushed down the knot of anxiety that twisted in his stomach, and moved into the room. The stranger saw him before John did, his dark penetrating eyes switching across the room to him. John followed the guy's gaze.  
"Paul!" John exclaimed. He flung his arm out towards Paul's figure. "Paul, come and meet an old mate of mine. Stu. Stu, this is Paul."  
The knot within Paul's stomach tightened even more as he moved to John's side, his eyes not leaving the stranger's face. Stu. So that was his name. Stu who was looking at him with ... with ... Paul lurched .. he didn't like what he was seeing in Stu's eyes. It was a knowing look. Supercilious. Superior. A touch away from a smirk. But John hadn't noticed that ... John hadn't ... and he was excited. And pleased. And joyful. And ..   
Paul shrank towards John's side, wanting to hide himself away from this man. Whoever he was.  
John was exuberant. "I was at Art College with Stu ..." John was explaining, his face a wide grin.   
Art College? John had been to Art College????  
"...s'where we met. Not seen Stu ..." he swung back from Paul to look at the guy again "..not seen y' for yonks and yonks. How long, eh? How long?"  
Now Stu was smiling back at John, wide, open, uncomplicated. "Years, mate, positively years. How long y' been here?"  
John paused, his face still split with a beaming grin. "Jesus, about three years, I reckon. Yeah, 'bout three years ..."  
"...an' you worked for the council."  
"Yeah, that I did, pen pushing ... my God, me, pen pushing, eh?  
"Do you remember that lad ... Ken ..."  
"Ken, yeah, got slung out about same time as me. No humour, that tutor."  
They laughed at each other.  
Paul watched them, observant, feeling left out. Feeling ... nothing. No one. Nobody.  
"So ... how the fuck did y' manage to track me down?"  
Stu's eyes flickered across to Paul. It was almost a dismissive gesture. "Someone that knew Paul, actually..."  
Paul stiffened. The knot in his stomach became the size of a boulder, weighing him down.  
John's smile faltered a little, but he was still so bouyed up with the joy of meeting an old friend he didn't weigh up the comment too much.  
"Oh, yeah, right ..."  
Stu's eyes fastened on Paul's face, noting the discomfiture. "Yeah. A friend of a friend. Some art dealer. Happened to mention Paul and someone else there said they knew a Paul who was now with a John Lennon, and I said .. well, I know John, where is he? And that is how it came about."  
They grinned at each other again, Paul forgotten for the moment.  
A chattering group entered the shop, and John pushed himself upright.   
"Look ... we must catch up. It's been too long. Fancy a drink?"  
Paul shot a glance at John. A drink? But ...  
"Yeah .. yeah, that'd be good. Tonight? I've got to see a guy later about this exhibition that my work is going to be part of ... but I'll tell you about that when I see you. What time d'you finish here?"  
"Five we close. Yeah, that'd be ..." John swung round to look at Paul who had moved away, his eyes following the interaction, his face expressionless .." Paul, you okay going back on your own tonight? If I ..."  
Stu intervened. "I don't mind him coming, John. Any friend of yours is a friend of mine."  
'Bitch' Paul thought. His heart sank. Go home on his own? John had never, ever left him to ... was this it? Was this the beginning? Was he not interesting enough? Was he ...  
John didn't wait for an answer. "That'll be okay. Paul can't come because he, er ..." John swung back to look at Paul, and for a moment he hesitated. Maybe he shouldn't?....  
Paul was looking at him, wide eyed. "You'll be okay, won't you? I won't be long?"  
What could Paul say? The boulder in his stomach dropped it's heavy weight. He blinked, slowly, trying to retain his composure. He nodded.  
John swung back to Stu. "Great. Settled then. The Three Crowns, yeah?"  
Stu laughed, showing tiny white teeth. "Yeah. It'll be like old times."

The little shop was busy until closing time, and Paul had his usual pupils, so no opportunity arose for them to converse. Not that Paul wanted to converse. He didn't know what to say even if the opportunity had arisen. Even as he conducted his lessons with his normal thoroughness half of his mind was on John and that guy ... that 'Stu'. Paul felt threatened. His relationship with John felt threatened. Paul's emotions were in turmoil, but John didn't notice. Paul WANTED him to notice. WANTED him to acknowledge him. Notice him. Talk to him. But all John could chatter about was how AMAZING it had been that Stu had managed to track him down. How INCREDIBLE it was that they'd made contact again. And with each outburst from John Paul just retreated further into the shell he was busy constructing. He was tidying up after his last pupil when John stuck his head around the door and dropped the keys to the shop on the piano. Startled, Paul looked round, his hands pausing in the process of folding down a music stand.  
"Paulie, I'm off to meet Stu. Do us a favour an' lock up. Don't forget to put the alarm on. I'll be home soon."  
John had gone. Paul drew a deep breath to stop the trembling that had begun in his fingers, and concentrated on the job in hand. Once the music stand was put away he went mechanically around the shop, putting off lights, emptying the till and putting the contents in the little safe, setting the alarm and finally, stepping outside, locking the door. The air was moist, chilly yet with a hint of spring in the breeze. Paul shoved the keys deep in his coat pocket and headed towards the bus stop. Part of him considered catching a bus to somewhere else ... anywhere ... but he didn't know where to go, unless he went to George's. But then again, George would be going to work about now. Swallowing a lump that had lodged in his throat, Paul went to the usual bus stop, and caught the usual bus home. What was not usual was the fact that he was on his own. No John. He leaned his head against the steamed up window of the upstairs compartment and stared with blank dark eyes out on to the familiar streets. He was barely holding it together, but he refused ... absolutely REFUSED ... to let such a prat as that Stu affect him. 

"I'm back!" John's voice echoed through the little house as he slammed the front door behind him a little more violently than usual. He struggled out of his coat as he headed towards the living room, and the door swung open before he had even touched it. He blinked, confused, then met Ritchie's smiling, if slightly puzzled, face.  
"Hi. You're late." He seemed to be peering behind John, as if looking for someone.  
"Yeah. Been out. For a drink. You wouldn't believe who I met today ... an old pal of mine from the Art College ... haven't seen him for ages and ages ... Stu, his name is .." John puffed and shrugged his way out of his jacket, his glasses steamed up in the warmth of the little room, his movements made clumsy by the beer he'd consumed. He and Paul ... and Ritchie, come to that ... didn't really drink that much. Maybe a bit more at a weekend. But he wasn't really used to necking three or four pints in one go any more. "We just met up for a bevvy. Catching up on old times, so to speak. " He was warm and relaxed, his mind full of his conversation with Stu and the reminiscences they'd had, and he smelt comfortingly of beer and old pubs.  
Ritchie was still peering behind him, an anxious frown growing on his face.  
"So .. where's Paul, then? Didn't go with you, did he, not with the .. er ..."  
John hid a smile. Maybe they should call Paul's tag the 'er' as that was how they all seemed to refer to it.  
"No. I left him to lock up and get home." John took his glasses off and wiped them. Putting them back on he noticed the expression on Ritchie's face.  
"You left him to get himself home?"  
John frowned. Was that a problem? After all, Paul got himself to and from the Care Home he helped at.  
"Well ... yeah. Why?"  
Ritchie looked at him wide eyed. "When I got in about half hour ago there was no one here."  
John's jaw fell open. Horror hit him. "Fuck! Fuck fuck fuck. You sure?"  
Ritchie gave a little shrug. "Well, he's not down here."  
John went from pleasantly drunk to stone cold sober in one second flat. He hurtled up the stairs, hoping against hope that ...  
He flung the door to their room wide, and it slammed against the wall.  
Startled, Paul glanced across. John heaved a sigh of relief. Thank God he was here. He crossed swiftly to Paul's side and sat down, his breath smelling of beer. Paul glanced away again, staring at a blank patch of wall, but John didn't notice the dismissive gesture. He slung an ebullient arm around the unresponsive figure.  
"Jesus, Paul ... Ritchie said he'd not seen y' and I thought .. I thought ..."  
John trailed off as he realised he was looking at the side of Paul's face. A perfectly sculpted face. A perfect profile. Expressionless. A tiny tic at the side of the jaw the only sign of life. John drew a breath. The vibes were rolling off Paul like a tidal wave.   
"Did you get home okay?" John lowered his voice.  
Paul inclined his head, but didn't shift his position.  
"Have to wait long for the bus?"  
Paul gave a tiny shake of his head.   
John pulled a wry face. "Are you not talking to me?"  
Paul shifted, a knee twitching.  
John traced his fingers up Paul's back, and felt the lad shiver.  
A twinge of guilt hit John. Maybe he shouldn't have left Paul.  
"Are you comin' down for summat to eat, then?"  
Another head shake. Now this was disconcerting.  
"But .. you must be hungry?"  
Paul's head swivelled to look out of the window ... not that there was anything to see.  
Bloody hell. John swore under his breath. Paul was certainly making him work for this.  
"What's the matter, Paul?" John dropped any pretence at cajoling. His voice held a hint of impatience. He shouldn't. He knew he shouldn't, because that was what Paul would pick up on. Even as he spoke, he regretted it. He felt Paul tighten up.  
"Nothing." Paul spoke to the window.   
John's arms fell to his side. Sometimes ... sometimes he could be so bloody difficult.  
"If you don't talk to me I can't help. Was it because I went out? Left you to go for a drink?"  
There was a small shrug. Paul's voice was quiet. "S' your right. Y' don't have to stay with me."  
"I haven't seen him for ages."  
They both knew who John was talking about.  
"We .. we used to be really good friends."  
"You never said you went to Art College." Paul spoke into the empty space in front of him in what almost seemed an accusatory tone.  
Ah. A response. John grabbed it gleefully.  
"No. Well, bit of a disaster, really. Me aunt wanted me to go. Rather than go on the dole. Thought I might 'find myself'. " John tched. "Better myself. I got slung out for a prank. Bloody tutors had no sense of humour. I love drawing, but .. well, I wanted to do me own thing. The system didn't work like that."  
John looked up to find Paul's eyes were on him, watching, although it was impossible to read anything into them.  
"Who is he?"   
John started. "Who? Stu?"  
Paul gave a slight nod.  
"We were great friends. He's really talented."  
There was a flash in Paul's eyes. Brief, but there. John pinpointed it immediately. Jealousy.   
John was taken by surprise. That Paul should be jealous of .. of Stu???  
A flutter of excitement tickled John's chest. To think that Paul .. Paul had that in him. That emotion. And because of him, John, and an old friend.  
John took Paul's hand that was resting beside them on the bed, and gave the fingers a gentle squeeze.  
He looked deeply into Paul's eyes, suddenly noting the fear, the worry, that Paul was doing his best to hide.  
"Just a friend, Paul. Nothing else. I promise you."  
Paul let out a breath that he didn't know he'd been holding.  
But there was still another worry.  
"How did he hear of me? "  
John, stroking Paul's fingers, frowned. He shook his head. That had puzzled him too, if he thought about it.  
"I dunno. Said it was a friend of a friend of one of the art dealers that knew you, an' someone else knew you were with me. I dunno, Paul."  
Paul was watching him anxiously. "I don't know any art dealers."  
"Well ..." oh yes, John knew all too well where this anxiety was coming from .." .. maybe it's all just a coincidence, eh? Pure fluke. Tell y' what, though. Stu was telling me he's got some of his paintings being displayed in an exhibition next week .. one of the little art galleries, an' he said would we like to go and see them? I said yeah, that'd be great. We can't do Saturday because of work, but they're open on Sunday too, so I thought we could go then. D';you fancy that?" John looked deep into Paul's eyes, trying to reassure him. "After all, you're quite arty too, aren't y'? There's no charge, an' they're serving wine and nibbles. Be something different, wouldn't it?"  
Paul swallowed nervously. He didn't mind going .. and yeah, he did like art, too .. but he wouldn't know anyone, and .. that uncertainty ..  
"You'll stay with me?" Paul winced even as he said it. It made him sound so needy.  
John just smiled and squeezed his fingers. "Course I will. What d'you think I'm gonna do, run off and leave y'?"

It left a little warm place in John's breast. That flash of jealousy that Paul had shown. He was used to people looking at Paul. After all, he was eye candy. Wherever they were .. on the bus, in the shop, at the park ,,, John was always aware of the many pairs of eyes that fixed on Paul. And he was quite proud of that fact. Smug, too, that Paul was with him. Look all you like, John would think, but he's mine. Mine. Therefore, to discover that Paul could flare with the same jealousy came as a surprise to John. It was gratifying too. It also showed a side of Paul that John hadn't yet known. But then again, Paul did have insecurities. Understandable, thought John, taking that extra bit of time to fix his hair in the mirror. Maybe he ought to take more care of his appearance? After all ...  
"John?"  
He turned and smiled at Paul who was watching him with a faintly quizzical air. Why was his boyfriend suddenly tarting himself up? Was it anything to do with that .. that ... Paul didn't like to think his name. In Paul's head he just became 'that guy'.  
John would occasionally try to initiate a conversation that included Stu .. a memory, a story, .. but Paul would immediately switch off. Until, of course, it came to the weekend, and they would be going to the art exhibition. Then it became difficult to avoid.  
John was really looking forward to it. It had been so long since he'd done anything like that. And he did love art. One of his great loves. He'd put it up there with music and Paul.  
As Sunday approached, though, Paul began to experience the familiar knot of anxiety in his stomach. Breakfast was difficult to get down him, let alone keep down. And lunch he definitely couldn't do.  
Watching Paul push the food around on his plate, John frowned. His frown deepened when he noticed how pale Paul was looking.  
"You feel alright?" he blurted out suddenly.  
Startled, Paul dropped the fork, which clattered onto the tray. His eyes darted to different corners of the room. "Yeah, 'm fine" he mumbled.  
John paused in his chewing. He didn't look fine.  
"You still okay to go?"  
Paul swallowed. Where had that lump come from? And why didn't his voice work? He nodded.  
John digested this carefully. It wouldn't be good for Paul to back out now. It was important they kept building bridges and crossing them. John knew that. Paul needed a little nudge every now and then, and once he'd accomplished something he'd be fine. It would be another box ticked, another achievement. John made a mental note not to leave his side even for a moment. Not even to talk to old friends. Paul didn't look in a state to hold up on his own today. John knew why. It had been that comment of Stu's about someone knowing Paul .. some art dealer. Paul was jumpy about his past. About being seen by someone who had known him. Who had .. who maybe had ... into John's memory swam a vision of Paul's notebook. He swallowed his food with a gulp. He'd not thought about it for a while. All this still haunted Paul. John had to remind himself of that.  
John nodded to the barely touched meal. "Y' gonna eat something? A bit of it, at least?"  
"I'm okay. I'm not really hungry."  
John touched Paul's arm and he jumped. Christ! John made a mental note of that fact. Paul was really jittery. Maybe going wasn't such a good idea.  
"Y'know, if you don't wanna go ..."  
Paul envisaged John there, on his own, with THAT guy, and a steely determination glinted in his eyes. "I'm fine. I said I'm goin' and I'm goin' ... okay?"  
Woah! John backed off. Where had THAT come from?   
John returned to his meal and nonchalantly carried on chewing. "Okay, fine, just checking is all."

They wrapped up warm against the cold wind that was blowing straight in from the Irish Sea. John chose a red and white striped hat and matching scarf for himself, then, after a second's hesitation, he pulled a green and turquoise scarf out of the cupboard and wrapped it round a surprised Paul.  
"Keep you warm" John said, doubling it round. Paul smiled, and John poked him on the nose. Paul scrunched his face up. "It matches your eyes."  
A smile split Paul's face. "What? Turquoise?"  
"No, green, y' daft bugger. Come on .. let's shift or we'll miss the bus. These paintings are for sale, y'know. They go in the exhibition an' there's a price on 'em, an' if you fancy one you can reserve it. Stu said some of the artists will be there to see how their work is doing."  
"Will HE be there?"  
John hid a smile, and took Paul's arm, pulling him close to his side as they legged it for the bus. "Yes, he should be. Told me he would."   
He heard Paul huff under his breath, and he chuckled to himself.  
"Come on, Paulie, race you to the bus stop." John let go of Paul's arm and darted ahead. It took Paul a moment to collect himself, but then he pelted after John, his longer legs easily over- taking, and he turned to face John, windblown and gasping for breath.  
"I won."  
John poked him in the ribs. "Cheat."  
"How? Why?"  
"You've got longer legs than me. I should make you hop."  
Paul folded his arms. "You suggested a race ... anyway, you got a head start on me. So who's the cheat? Eh?"  
John threw his arms up in the air. "Okay, okay, I give in. You won."  
Paul threw him a smug smile as the bus rounded the corner.

The municipal building that was being used as a temporary art gallery was bedecked with twinkling fairy lights that shone hazily through the misty air. A steady stream of people were entering and exiting up the broad stone steps, and a couple of boards informed passers-by of the exhibition being staged. It had attracted a variety of people of all ages and all backgrounds. Some people were smartly dressed, and a few expensive cars were parked in a roped off area. John nudged Paul and pointed at them.  
"See the elite are here."  
Paul huddled inside his overcoat, wondering if he was inadequately dressed, but then a group of youngsters exited the building. They were a mix of males and females and they were laughing and joking as they thundered down the steps. Paul was relieved to see that their clothes looked fairly normal ... even, maybe, slightly alternative, and one girl sported long green and purple hair. As he watched the exuberant group a guy dressed in black leather peeled off from them and approached Paul and John.  
"John ... you made it."  
"Stu!! Yeah. We have. How's it going? Anyone bought your shitty work?"  
Stu laughed, and then said "Actually, yes! They've all sold. Hope you weren't planning on buying one." He punched John playfully on the arm, then glanced at Paul who was watching him from beneath lowered lashes.  
Stu lowered his voice. "Hullo, Paul. Glad you could come."  
Paul just nodded, and John grabbed him by the arm, linking them together.  
"Come on then, Stu, lead the way. Let's see what you've been up to."

The warmth of the building hit Paul as they entered, and he gazed around at the magical setting that surrounded him. Pictures, large and small and every size in between, hung on the plain walls, and the balconies had been decorated with garlands. A smartly dressed woman handed them a guide, explaining with a smile that some of the items had been purchased, but that a note to this effect had been pinned onto the frames. There was a steady buzz of conversation in the air, and an exuberant and joyful atmosphere pervaded. Unwinding his long scarf, Paul slowly turned a full circle, taking everything in. So many pictures to go and look at. So many styles. Beside him he heard John mutter something about a drink, but he took no notice. He really wanted to go and look at all these imaginative works of art. He started to drift towards the nearest one that had caught his attention when he felt John tug him back.  
"Hang on a minute. Don't want to lose you in here." Paul glanced back to John and couldn't help but catch the rather odd expression on Stu's face. It was fleeting. Gone. Paul turned to John.  
"I just want to .."  
John spoke under his breath. " Yeah, Paul, I know y'do .. but let's just hand our coats in and get a drink an' then Stu's gonna show us his pictures. After that we can go an' look at whatever you want."  
Paul pouted. It was something he did very well. Even if not very often. John found it amusing.  
Paul didn't want to go and look at Stu's stupid pictures. He wanted to go and look at the ones that were grabbing his attention now, but Stu was standing there waiting, and John had him by the arm. He capitulated gracefully.  
"Okay". It was an elegant shrug.   
Stu eyed him up carefully. He wouldn't have put Paul down as being John's type. Too .. too .. feminine. Stu always imagined John with someone that looked equally as tough. Not a delicate looking lad with big eyes and lashes that most women would kill for. He watched Paul shrug his coat off gracefully, handing it over to the cloakroom attendant, who made some kind of comment about the knitted scarf. Stu watched Paul smile, and gesticulate to John, who chuckled at something Paul had said. Stu was puzzled. What was it about this lad that had made the tough Lennon capitulate? For a brief time Stu had been on the edge of the gay scene and he could think of at least half a dozen guys who would suit John better than this pretty boy. Or so he thought. He fixed a smile on his face as John and Paul came back towards him.  
"Okay? It's warm in here, isn't it. So .. drinks and nibbles are over there. Get yourselves something and I'll take you and show you my stuff ... y'know " he grinned at John " my shitty paintings."  
John grinned back. "Yup. That's right. You're learning fast."

Paul found himself with a glass of wine in one hand and a couple of dainty sausage rolls clutched in his other hand and John's arm at his back propelling him up the stairs. Snatches of conversation drifted past his ears, and swirling, tantalising swathes of colour caught his eyes as they headed to where Stu's paintings were hung. John, intent on keeping Paul moving, couldn't help but be amused at his partner's distraction.  
"Come on, Paul ... we've lots of time to go and look at everything. Let's start with Stu's and then we can split."   
"So ... here's my shitty paintings" Stu flung his arms out proudly to indicate the three works that hung on the plain wall, each one bearing a 'sold' sticker.  
Paul cast his eye over them ... bold swirls of colour, seemingly random to him, covered the large canvases. He felt Stu give him a sideways glance. John was busy enthusing over the works, getting right up close to survey them intently. He was chuntering away to Stu at the same time. But Stu's gaze had fixed on Paul.  
"You like art, Paul, John said?"  
Paul started, his eyes flicking over to meet Stu's. Why did he get the feeling Stu was looking at him and finding him wanting?   
"Er, yeah, I do." He busied himself taking a sip of wine, hoping it would halt any more conversation. But Stu persisted.  
"So ... what kind? Any particular period? Any artist?" There was a glint in Stu's eye and Paul felt it was as if Stu was trying to show him up, testing him.   
"I like the impressionist period best." A flash of anger and determination gave a lift to Paul's voice. "Particularly Van Gogh. I expect you'd say that's just mainstream, in the same way people describe some popular music as being a 'lollipop', but I love the feeling of movement in his paintings." Paul became aware that John had halted his perusal of Stu's work and had turned to listen." His paintings convey so much ... y'know, you can feel the wind blowing the grasses an' you can almost see the stars twinkling .. it's like you're there and can feel all this going on around you. Like they draw you in and you're actually inside the paintings, part of them. Anyway, that's what I think." Paul tailed off, suddenly losing the blaze of confidence he'd felt in the face of Stu's negativity. Then he saw John smile at him, giving him a wink, and there was pride in John's face. Pride at how he'd spoken up. Paul smiled back at John, feeling reassured.  
Stu shook his head. "No .. that's .. great, Paul. You describe that period well. It was an interesting transition in art. It influenced a lot of artists who followed after." Paul felt sure the glance Stu threw his way held a different light in it.   
Inwardly, Paul sighed with relief. He thought he might have just spewed out a load of dribble. He didn't want to embarrass John.  
Stu turned to John. "So .. what do you think?" Stu gestured to his works. "My paintings? Any good?"  
John dolefully shook his head. "Nah, they're shitty, man. You'll be giving the buyers their money back once they get 'em home." John paused, and smiled." Seriously, Stu .. they're great. So much energy in them. Really vibrant. What influenced you?"  
"I tried to show interaction .. how people respond to one another. Like .. hate or .. magnetism. Like electrical or chemical charges that attract or repel that you can't see but are there .. chemical reactions? That sort of thing, but in human emotion. Like when people say there's a spark between them. I tried to think how that would look if I tried to paint it."  
John nodded understandingly, and Paul found himself surveying Stu's paintings in a different light. So THAT was what he'd tried to convey. All those bold strokes and interweaving colours.  
Stu touched John's arm gently. "Shall I show you around? There's a couple of other paintings in the exhibition I think you might like, and Paul should see the ones downstairs in the little room, because they were based on Monet's style."   
Paul's eyes flicked over to Stu, surprised. A concession there to him?

The trio spent the next hour drifting around the gallery. Stu turned out to be an excellent guide and was able to speak knowledgeably about the various paintings, giving an insight into the works that would otherwise have been denied to them. Paul found himself beginning to relax in the company of Stu, feeling less threatened, and in turn Stu included Paul more and more in the conversation. John was thoroughly enjoying himself. He determined that he would make time to begin sketching again. After all, he had that book Paul had bought him for Christmas and apart from a couple of doodles he'd not yet done anything.   
He mentioned it to Stu, who was all encouragement.  
"You used to be good at doing caricatures. That's what I always remember you best for. You could have made a great cartoonist."  
"Could have, son, could have. Could have doesn't pay the rent. How do you manage to live off this?"  
Stu smiled. "Conventional portraits, mate. It pays the bills."  
"Not all...." John windmilled his arms around, describing bold brush strokes.   
Stu laughed. "No. Those are for MY satisfaction. Most people wouldn't want them on their wall. I .. er ... " Stu paused, and licked his lips nervously. "I wouldn't mind having a go at painting you two, though .. if you don't mind. If you'd like, that is."  
Paul and John exchanged a surprised glance.  
John's lips quirked. "Us?" he queried.  
Paul remained silent, unsure. Was this a joke? Then again, Stu looked serious, his eyes travelling from one to the other to judge their reaction.   
"You are joking, aren't you?" John asked, uncertain.  
Hope jumped in Stu's breast. John hadn't refused, and he had a feeling that Paul would do whatever John wished ... within reason. He was beginning to discover there was more to this pretty boy than met the eye, and also beginning to understand why the two of them were together. They might LOOK like opposites, but Stu could feel the magnestism that ran between them. His fingers itched to illustrate that.  
Fixing John with a stare he shook his head. "Nope, I'm not. You'd make good subjects. There's an energy between you. I can feel it, and if I can feel it I can paint it."  
John raised his eyebrows. "Will we have to be in the buff?" he leered. Beside him he felt Paul shift uncomfortably, and he brushed Paul's wrist reassuringly with his fingers.  
Stu just laughed and shook his head. "Nah. Nothing like that."  
John jokingly swiped his face with his hand, expressing relief. "Well, thank Christ for that. I don't have the figure. Paul does, though."  
Paul coloured, violently giving John a shove. "I'm not .. not .. no way, Lennon ..." Paul sputtered.

A few heads turned their way at the laughter that ensued. Wondering what was so amusing. One gentleman glanced over, curious, then did a double take. He took his glasses off and peered again. Then he turned to his companions and excused himself.

Paul wished he didn't blush so much. John could always get a rise out of him. Always.  
Paul turned to look back at the painting, trying to garner his composure, and came face to face with a stranger, who was looking at him intently. Paul's eyes flickered over him, unrecognising.   
"Well, there's a beautiful piece of art work you don't see every day" the stranger said, a smile on his face, his gaze fixed on Paul.  
John went on high alert. Stu looked puzzled.  
Bewildered, Paul turned and looked behind him to see what the stranger was referring to. But the wall behind Paul was blank.  
He turned back and the guy was still looking at him, a smile playing the corners of his lips. Maybe .. maybe he liked the same painting Paul was looking at? Maybe ..  
Next second, John was at his side, his hand possessively on Paul's arm. The stranger's fixed gaze widened to include John.  
Paul's heart started hammering loudly against his ribs and his mouth felt dry. He didn't know who this was, he didn't recall him, but ... John's reaction .. Paul's eyes widened in concern. Should he be worried? He noticed the frown that was creasing Stu's face. Oh God, don't say .. he turned towards John and noticed the set of John's mouth.  
He felt John's fingers tighten around his forearm. So tight he'd probably have bruises tomorrow.  
"Talking about Paul are we?" John's voice was level, all emotion removed.  
The guy's smile widened, not picking up the hidden threat. "Paul. That's it. Couldn't quite recall the name. But someone mentioned you the other day." Now the guy's eyes were fixed back on Paul to the exclusion of all around him. "Still as attractive as ever I see."  
Now John's nails were digging into Paul's arms and he winced visibly.   
"Stu." Paul turned, startled at the peremptory tone that issued from John , "look after Paul for me while I have a word with this .. " John's eyes ran up and down the still smiling figure in front of him " .. this gentleman, will you? Don't let go of him for a moment."  
Paul found himself suddenly pushed in the direction of Stu, who had cottoned on to the situation. Now it was Stu's arm that gripped Paul tightly and swiftly towed him off towards the exit where the crowds were thinner.  
Paul turned to Stu in confusion. "Who's that?" he asked, his eyes wide and worried.  
Stu glanced back across the busy room where he could see a conversation being struck up between the guy and John. "I dunno Paul." Stu's reply was quiet.   
He just hoped John would be sensible. Stu hadn't mentioned anything, and wouldn't, but Paul's name had crossed a few lips in the circles he moved in. He just hoped John knew what he'd got into. Stu shook himself. John had asked him to look after Paul, and look after Paul he would. He relaxed his hold on Paul's arm slightly, while not letting go.  
"Would you like another glass of wine?"  
Paul started. "What? Oh .. oh, yeah, okay."  
"Not driving, are you?" Stu attempted a joke, fairly sure that a car didn't figure in John and Paul's life.  
A small smile graced Paul's lips. "No ... we don't ..we don't have a car .." his fingers were shaking, he could feel them. He chided himself.' Don't appear a pansy in front of Stu. Come on, Paul, y' can hold your own.'  
"Do you?" Paul enquired pleasantly, trying to ignore the tremor in his voice.  
He could feel Stu's penetrating gaze on the side of his face. "No. Can't afford one. Not famous enough yet. One day, maybe. One day I'd like to take off in a Masseratti with my canvases and oils in the back seat and travel across France, stopping and painting whatever caught my eye. One day."  
They exchanged a smile. Dreams Paul understood. One day. One day he'd like to settle down with John, just the two of them, and his music. Leave all his worries behind. All the shitty baggage that kept weighing him down.  
"You two been together long?"  
Paul had been trying to peer across the room to see what was going on. Stu's question pulled him back.  
"Oh, about a year. Just a bit more."  
Stu nodded. "You seem to suit each other. That's why I'd like to ....."  
There was a disturbance and Stu never got to finish his sentence.  
Suddenly John was there, red-faced and fuming. He grabbed Paul's arm, and the wine glass went spinning. People leapt out the way.  
"Paul, coat, now. Let's get out .."  
Stu stepped forward, half aware of the fact that a group of people had gathered in the area John had been standing in only a second before.  
"John .. John?"  
"Stu, we'll be in touch."  
John yanked on Paul's arm so hard he stumbled and would have fallen but for John swiftly catching him and firmly propelling their feet in the direction of the cloakroom.   
There was a hubbub of increasing sound, and a few raised voices began to be heard. Paul's eyes flickered in the direction of the sounds and he could see people looking in their direction, arms waving, and .. oh Christ .. someone was on the floor, and ..  
John felt Paul begin to panic. His fingers tightened even more around him.  
"John? John, what ..?" Bloody hell, he'd have hundreds of bruises tomorrow, and .. why was someone calling them to stop?  
John thrust Paul's coat into his arms.  
"Come on, Macca .. shift. We're going."  
"Just a moment ... just a moment" an official looking gentleman came huffing up to them.   
John turned to him with a snarl. "Yes?!"  
The man stepped back, his eyes widening in fright. "Can I ask what happened ov..."  
John didn't let him finish. "You're asking the wrong guy, mate. Go and talk to the one on the floor ... IF he'll tell you. Fucking pervert!"  
John could feel Paul frantic beside him at the outburst, wriggling around in his grasp. John gripped him tightly, and felt Paul wince.  
"John, you're hurting ...."  
"Come on, Paul."  
Paul was tugged firmly along by an irate John, out into the cold wind, desperately trying to hold onto his coat and the long scarf which tangled around his feet, causing him to trip. John caught him, pulling him up, and Paul could read anger and concern at war in those amber eyes.  
"John please ..." Paul whimpered, his voice almost lost in the panic.  
Both of John's arms closed around Paul, giving him a brief hug, before towing him again in the direction of the bus stop ... no, cut that! Taxi rank. John was pulling him towards a taxi, hailing one even as they approached. The driver jumped out, opening the doors, and without preamble John pushed Paul in, barking out Ritchie's address as he did so.  
As the taxi drove off, John heaved a sigh, and flopped back against the seat, his eyes shut, his breathing ragged. Paul watched him, unsure. Unsure as to what had gone on. Unsure whether or not to ask.   
He stretched out his fingers and twined them with John's that were resting by his thigh. Although John didn't open his eyes he gave Paul's fingers a gentle squeeze.  
They drove in silence. Paul could feel his heart still beating madly. This was something to do with him, wasn't it? Something ... something had been said. He didn't recollect the guy, but then, why should he? There'd been so many. They were all a blur. Until finally he'd locked himself away mentally. Switched off. Tuned out to what was being done.   
He drew a shuddering breath, and became aware of John's thumb drawing lazy circles on the back of his hand. He shut his eyes and concentrated on that. Just that.

The house was quiet. Ritchie had gone to visit his mam, taking Lottie with him. John paid off the taxi and bundled Paul into the house, out of the biting wind, flipping on the lights so the rooms were bathed with a comforting warmth. John hadn't spoken, and he was tight lipped. Paul was desperately trying to read him.  
"John ... John, what ? .."  
John was instantly dismissive. "It doesn't matter Paul." He hung their coats in the closet. His face was impassive. He wasn't encouraging conversation.   
Paul felt a hundred butterflies take flight in his stomach. Was John annoyed at him? Upset? Had he done something? Not done something? Maybe the guy ... that guy ... had said ... had he said? ... and .. oh God .. what if?  
"John please .. did .. was it .."  
"Leave it, Paul." John's voice was sharp, abrasive, and Paul flinched at the tone. He curled into himself protectively, throwing a shield around him.  
John moved into the kitchen, and began filling the kettle. Paul could hear the tap being run, the hiss of the water. He dallied, not sure where to go. Not sure what to do. He began unconsciously chewing the edge of his thumb. A phone rang ... John's mobile ... and he heard half of a stilted conversation.  
"..bloody bastard .. well I don't know, do I, Stu .. yeah, I know you did .. damn fucker ... brazen as you like. Asked me how much .. what? Yeah, I know...oh he won't come after me. Course I'm bloody sure. After what he said? He wouldn't dare .. what? .. I dunno. He's okay ... doesn't know, does he? An' I ain't telling him. Well, if you DID know .. doesn't matter, does it. Didn't put two and two together. I never thought ... didn't occur to me. Still? ...yeah ... no, I'm not....I'm not putting Paul in that position ... I don't care, they can deal with me first ... "  
Paul strained his ears to listen, trying to work out what the other half of the conversation was.   
"...yeah, right. Well, we'll see....yeah. Yeah, okay.....will do. He'll be alright....maybe, but not yet. Give us some time....Yeah, an' you. Tarrah."  
There was a moment's silence in the kitchen, and Paul moved away from the door, still chewing his thumb.

John snapped his phone closed, effectively ending his conversation with Stu. He stood still for a moment, brooding. The anger was still hot inside him, almost at boiling point. He felt he could break something. Hurt someone. Smash something. He shook his head, and turned back to the tea he'd been making when Stu had rung him. He added milk and, as an afterthought, a couple of spoons of sugar into Paul's. After all, the lad could be in a bit of shock. Juggling two mugs in one hand, he opened the door into the living room.  
Paul was still standing there absent-mindedly chewing on his thumb. He didn't even notice John enter. His shirt was half untucked from his jeans from their dash home, his eyes gazing into space, seeing nothing.  
With a sigh, John placed the mugs down on the coffee table and moved across to Paul, taking him into his arms. Paul jumped, startled, his eyes flashing wide, then relaxing when he saw it was John. John pulled him tightly against him, but Paul squirmed, pulling back, his eyes anxiously on John.  
"John, what went on? Who.."  
John placed a finger over Paul's lips. "It doesn't matter. It's not important."  
Paul's eyes were scanning John's face, trying to ascertain what it had all been about. "But ..."  
John shook his head firmly. "No but's, Paul. Forget it. Here, I've made you a cup of tea." Distract him. Distract him, ran through John's mind. "Have this. I need to get some washing in before work tomorrow. Reckon you can cook tea for us?"  
Well, that did create a distraction. Paul's eyes widened in disbelief. "Me? Cook tea?"  
John had to smile. "Yeah, you. Y' can do egg and chips or summat, can't you, without killing it?"  
"I .. I guess so."  
"Good." John released him. "I'm gonna grab a pile of washing. Got anything you need doing?"  
Paul shook his head, benumbed at the thought of being the chef for the night.  
"Okay. Shall we say tea in half an hour? There's a film on I fancy watching. Hope that's okay?"  
Paul nodded as he headed into the kitchen to start their evening meal.

It was much later, after Paul had gone to bed, that John was able to talk to a concerned Ritchie,  
"He said what?" Ritchie's blue eyes were wide.  
"He asked if I was now the fixer."  
"Fixer?" Ritchie frowned.  
"Yeah, for Paul. He wanted to 'hire' him for a night."  
Colour drained from Ritchie's face. "You don't mean.."  
"Yeah, I fucking do. He made that pretty obvious. Thought I was Luke Stanton's replacement, and apparently Luke had used to let certain 'friends' borrow Paul. He assumed I was now the person holding that role."  
"What did you say?" Ritchie's eyes were like saucers, his mouth agape.  
"I went along with him for a moment. I wanted to know how far he was going to go." John recalled the smug smile on the guy's face. "He was so fucking sure of himself. Not a moment's thought for Paul .. it was as if he was discussing the price of meat. He even got out his diary to sort a 'suitable date' ... said he'd be willing to collect and return Paul the following day."  
"Oh my God ... how could they?"  
John looked intently at Ritchie. "D'you know what really got me, Ritchie? It was the way he seemed to regard it as a business transaction .. no thought for Paul. No allowance for the fact we're talking about a human being. Just their own selfish pleasures. Talking about him as if he's just a parcel to be passed around."  
"So .. what did ..."  
John snorted. "I flattened him. Probably broke his nose. It was worth it just to see the look of shock on his face."  
Ritchie's mouth dropped open. "You HIT him?"  
"Yup, certainly did."  
"But .. but did no one? ..I mean .. police, or anything?"  
John gave a grim smile. "What's he gonna say? He knows full well what he was proposing. Is he gonna tell the police that? If they come round here, I will. I'll tell 'em what he was after, and what's more, with Paul on probation at the moment, the police'll have enough idea .. it's me they'll believe. Nah ..." John shook his head. "He won't say anything. If a broken nose is all he's got he's got away lightly. I'd like to have kicked his fucking balls in, then he couldn't have gone round fucking anyone else's life up anymore."  
"Does .. does Paul know?"  
John shook his head. "Ain't told him. Ain't gonna, either. Reckon he's probably figured it out."

John slid into bed quietly, trying not to disturb Paul. He thought Paul was fast asleep.   
He ran his hand gently down to Paul's hip bone, the edge of his thumb feeling the raised skin of the scars nearby.  
He felt Paul shift, disturbed.  
Next moment, Paul had rolled over to face him, eyes huge and dark in the gloom.  
"Johnny?"  
John placed a kiss on the tip of Paul's nose. "Hmmm?"  
"That guy ..."  
John stiffened. "Paul, not ..."  
"Please, John. Is he someone who knew me?"  
John closed his eyes briefly. He could feel Paul's gaze intently on him.   
Paul's fingers found John's hand, and he gave a squeeze. "Was he? I want to know."  
John sighed. "Yes, he was, but I'm not going to talk about it."  
There was a moment's silence while Paul digested the information. The silence stretched on ... and on. John thought maybe Paul had drifted back to sleep, then suddenly  
"What did you do to him?"  
In the darkness John gave a grim smile. "Punched him."  
"Oh." Paul's voice was almost a whisper. John felt Paul's fingers squeeze his hand again. Another pause, another squeeze, then  
"Thank you."  
John pulled back, trying to see Paul's face. He was fairly certain there was a smile on it.  
"What?"  
Paul ducked his head into John's shoulder. "I said thank you ... for defending my honour."  
John chuckled. "You're welcome, princess."


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Watching out for John

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope this ,chapter isn't too wordy. It's not actually complete .. but I decided to halt here and carry on in the next chapter. Comments always appreciated, and thanks to those reading and following it.

John woke early because he was hot ... SO hot. Going to push the duvet down his hand collided with solid flesh, and he blearily peeled open an eye to find he had Paul wrapped around him. A soft smile crossed John's face and he brought his hand up, gently laying it upon Paul's smooth back, the heat radiating off his body. At the touch of John's hand Paul murmured and snuggled determinedly onto the man beneath him. John's fingers traced up the spine, feeling each well known bump, into the thick dark hair. He heard Paul sigh at the contact, although the young man was obviously still fast asleep. John turned his head quietly to the side to catch what time it was. Six fifty five. Over half an hour of bliss left.  
Time to collect his thoughts. Time to consider the day ahead.

Time to stop Paul from overthinking.

Well, yesterday had certainly been a mixed bag.  
LOVED visiting the art exhibition.  
LOVED catching up with Stu again.  
And absolutely LOVED smashing that creep's face in.

John just hoped there was no comeback from it. He was fairly certain there wouldn't be.   
Would that guy even dare repeat what he'd said to John?  
John was fairly confident he wouldn't.  
That didn't mean that Paul wouldn't be thinking about it. If John let him.  
John didn't intend to let him.

John was determined that Paul would overcome what had happened.  
VERY determined.

He carefully slid out from underneath Paul's body which slithered gracefully into the vacated warm spot. John heard a muttered sleepy sentence that made no sense whatsoever.  
As he drew his dressing gown around him, tying it securely, his eyes never left Paul. The younger man had buried his dark head under his arms, the pillow shoved unused at the top of the bed, still with the dent where John's head had been. John reached down and pulled the duvet over Paul's sleeping figure.

How could that guy have said the things he did?  
How could he have referred to Paul in that way?  
How could anyone be so fucking cruel?

Well ... nothing like that was ever gonna happen again. Determination spread like a mask over John's face.  
Anyone dare to come near Paul, his Paul, they'd have to contend with Lennon first.  
And today, John would have to contend with Paul's queries.  
And concerns.  
And worries.  
Bugger.

"Mornin' John" Ritchie's greeting was bright and cheery but his blue eyes belied the jovial tone as he scanned John's face for some idea of what mood he was in.  
To Ritchie's relief John's response was just as bright and cheery.  
Ritchie pulled two extra mugs out of the cupboard. "Paul awake?"  
"No not yet" John leaned on the kitchen counter watching Ritchie "But I'll rouse him in a sec with a cup of tea."  
Ritchie added extra water to the kettle and turned to face John.  
"Did you sleep?"  
A wry smile crossed John's face. "Oh yeah, we slept alright."  
Ritchie frowned for a moment ... he was never sure if John was being truthful or sarcastic.  
Had they slept? After what had happened?   
"Paul was tired ... it's today he'll start asking."  
Ah. The subject raised. Ritchie hadn't wanted to in case John had wanted to ignore it.  
Ritchie indicated the two extra mugs, and John inclined his head. "Just me, mate. I'll make Paul's in a second."  
Ritchie poured the boiling water into the two mugs, leaving the third waiting. His back to John he resumed the conversation, giving John space to talk or not talk, whichever he chose. John appreciated that.  
"I wanna try and bounce him through today, if I can. Keep him busy, y'know, so he doesn't get too .. uh .. y'know .. down."  
Ritchie nodded. "Yup. Understood. Maybe we could plan summat exciting for tonight?"  
John's eyebrows shot up. "What?"  
Ritchie passed him a mug of tea. "I dunno .. a game, or something. We've got that one that was bought us for Christmas we ain't played yet. That .. er .. " Ritchie sought his memory for the name ".. arti ..artic ..erm .."  
John smiled. "Articulate."  
"Aye, that's it. That's the one. I bet Paul would be good at that."  
"If it comes to talking he'll win hands down. But, y'know .." John mused " good idea, that, Ritchie. It'll stop him from brooding."  
Encouraged, Ritchie pushed on. "We could do his favourite tea and get some beers and play some games and .."  
"Eh, eh .. hold up. At this rate we'll be throwing a party. I wanna distract him, not have him get suspicious."  
John saw Ritchie's face drop a little. "But .. yeah, let's, eh? Sausage, mash, beer and some games."  
Ritchie's face brightened up again.  
"Sure thing. I'll get straight on it when I get back from work."

Paul was still fast asleep when John entered the room carrying a steaming mug of tea. He put it down on the bedside table and sat on the edge of the bed, the mattress dipping under his weight. Fondly he observed Paul, a smile touching his face. It never ceased to amaze John how much Paul could sleep. He was always first to bed, and almost always the last up. John sometimes wondered if, in some way, Paul's body was still trying to heal itself, and that was why he slept so much. Was he sleeping away all the traumas he'd been subjected to?  
He gave his boyfriend a nudge. "Paul? Tea."  
Paul rolled over lazily, exposing a tantalising amount of abdomen. John grit his teeth, feeling his cock twitch. No time for that now.  
Paul's eyes fluttered open dreamily, focusing on John. A smile curved his lips at the sight of his partner. His partner. The word 'permanent' drifted into Paul's head, giving him a little thrill. Permanent, that's what John had said.  
"Mornin' Johnny" his voice was husky and low. That didn't help John's present predicament at all.  
He couldn't help it. John just could not help it.  
He leaned over and captured Paul's lips in a bruising kiss that certainly roused Paul. Paul's arms snaked around John, pulling him forcefully into the bed. John's hand sought Paul's fast hardening member only to find that Paul had just done the same to him. John felt it was but seconds before Paul suddenly bucked into his hand, coating John's fingers with warm sticky fluid. His eyes widening in astonishment at how they'd reached this position so swiftly, he couldn't contain himself when Paul whispered "come for me Johnny" into his ear. John was astonished all over again to find himself now coating Paul's chest and stomach with a pulsing stream of fluid.  
Wiping his hands on the now rather soiled duvet ... John made a mental note of 'change the bedcovers tonight when we get home' ..he met Paul's eyes, which were sparkling in mirth.  
Paul quirked an eyebrow. "Brought me tea, have you, then?"  
John burst out laughing. "Bloody hell, Paul ... you're a randy little bugger at times, aren't you?"  
Paul put on a shocked face. "Me? No, I'm pure and innocent, mate. Been defiled by you, I have."  
It was that word. Defiled. John tried not to let it get to him. He determinedly held on to his grin.  
"Right, come on, then, Macca .. that just wasted .. " John looked at the clock. Four minutes? Had they really managed a quick hand job in four minutes? Bloody hell, that must be a record. John became aware that Paul was watching him, waiting for the rest of the sentence, while sipping his still steaming tea.  
"..four minutes .." John trailed off. Wow.  
Paul shrugged nonchalantly. "I was waiting for me tea to cool. It seemed a good way to pass the time."  
John's mind drifted away. Paul SEEMED to be okay. He certainly sounded and acted it. Maybe he'd forgotten yesterday? Maybe .. well, one never knew with Paul. It had been quite a few weeks since he'd had an 'absence' .. but that didn't mean? John looked at him curiously, and Paul met his gaze, open and wide eyed.  
"Are you okay?" John didn't know why he asked. After all, his intention, as he'd said to Ritchie, was to 'bounce Paul through the day'. Not let him think. So why was he even asking?  
Paul frowned. Was there some reason he shouldn't be? .. oh! .. oh, god, .. he'd forgotten .. yesterday ... that guy ... John ... Stu ... art exhibition ... it all came flooding back.  
John could have kicked himself.   
WHY had he done that?  
WHY had he asked him.  
Paul looked wordlessly at him, the sparkle suddenly gone from his eyes.  
He'd forgotten. 

"John, you don't think?..."  
"No, Paul, I don't. Not for one minute. Please don't worry about it. Leave that to me. Are you gonna get those e.p.'s sorted? Someone came in the other day .. he might come back."  
Chewing his bottom lip, Paul nodded and turned back to the job in hand.  
He would have remembered anyway, John tried to reassure himself. Paul would have recalled the previous day sooner or later.  
It had been a quiet journey in on the bus, Paul wrapped in dark thoughts. It didn't help that he was sitting across the aisle on a very crowded bus and that John wasn't next to him to stop him from brooding.   
As soon as they stepped off the bus Paul had started his anxious enquiries.  
"Did Stu know who it was?"  
"I dunno, Paul. I didn't ask .."  
"But if he did .. does that mean Stu knows about me?"  
"I'm not sure ..." John tried desperately to keep his patience. But Paul was like a dog with a bone, worrying at it, picking it clean.  
"But that could mean"...."John, what if the guy presses charges?"...."suppose he has friends"..."I don't want to see you get hurt"..."these people have connections, y'know"  
It was that word that did it. That word had been banded about a lot when Luke Stanton had still been on the scene. Connections. John's short lived affair with Dean, friend of Luke, also said to have 'connections'. It was a word that seemed to strike terror into Paul.  
It would appear, from the way the guy had spoken yesterday, that there was quite a large group of people, moving in similar circles, occasionally drifting into one another's orbits, who all had 'connections'. Did they cover up for one another? Did they cover one another's backs when illicit activities were going on? Connections. Connections.  
John found the word galloping through his mind, round and round endlessly. Were these the people Paul had been shoved between? Thinking they couldn't be touched. Because they had 'connections'.  
John heard Paul drop a pile of records, startled by the door of the shop opening suddenly, the bell ringing madly.  
It was just a group of students. Chattering amongst themselves.   
John glanced at them, then crossed to where Paul had stooped down to collect the scattered records. John gathered a few up, leaning across to pass them to Paul.  
"Butter fingers" John whispered teasingly.  
Paul smiled at him, but there was anxiety in those dark eyes.  
He was worrying about repurcussions. Someone getting back at John because of what he'd done.  
He'd seen it happen before.  
He'd been witness to it.  
He couldn't stand for John to be hurt.  
"Hi, d'you have any Fleetwood Mac at all?"  
John winked reassuringly at Paul, and rose to serve the customers.  
Paul sank back on his heels.  
Why had this had to happen?

John was avoiding talking about it. Paul knew he was but didn't know how to approach the subject. John seemed cheerful and carefree and wouldn't ... just WOULD NOT .. talk to Paul about what had gone on or the consequences.   
Now Paul was being presented with his favourite meal and a beer.  
And encouraged to take part in a game.  
A game called Articulate.  
"It'll be fun, Paul" Ritchie said with a beaming smile "And you're bound to win."  
Paul was worried.  
And frustrated.  
Did they think he couldn't see through them? That he didn't know what they were doing?  
Didn't they know these people were dangerous?  
They were treating him like a child, to be pacified.  
He didn't WANT to be pacified.   
They needed to know they could be in danger.  
They needed to be aware.  
Flooding back into Paul's mind came memories.  
Memories when they'd been after him.  
The brick through Ritchie's window as a warning.  
The car that had followed him.  
The guy that had sought him out.  
The two men who'd tried to abduct him from the hospital.  
And then finally .. finally ... when they had thought maybe Luke had given up ... the attack on him and Ritchie.  
They didn't give up. They never gave up.  
And now John would be in danger for defending his .. Paul's .. honour.

The food that Paul had eaten churned in his stomach.  
The beer tasted like piss.  
The cards blurred in front of his eyes.  
In one swift movement Paul stood up, scattering beer and cards everywhere.  
Wide eyed he stared at his astonished friends.  
Next second he'd gone, his feet flying up the stairs.

John looked across at Ritchie.  
"Well, THAT went well, didn't it?" he said drily.

John took the shaking figure into his arms.  
How could he reassure Paul? To be truthful, Paul's reaction and certainty of some kind of come back was starting to worry John too.  
Paul clung to him with thin fingers, twisting the material of John's jumper.  
"I couldn't bear it if anything happened to you."  
"Nothing's gonna happen to me Paul."  
"It would be my fault."  
"It would NOT be your fault. And nothing's gonna happen."  
"You can't say that. You don't know them like I do. They all have connections..."  
"connections..." John's voice chimed in with Paul's.  
Paul paused, looking up at him from beneath his lashes.  
John gave a wry smile. "I've heard you say that so often."  
It was a sigh. "It's true. It's true, though, John. They do. They all know each other."  
John pulled Paul closer to him, stroking the dark hair. "Look, I'll take extra care, okay? I'll watch me back."  
Paul's fingers let go of John's jumper and threaded hesitantly around John's back, tightening as they did so.  
"I'll watch your back too," he murmured into John's shoulder.

Paul didn't know how to cope with this. Being under a threat himself, yes, that he understood. And could cope with.  
But for someone who meant more than life itself to him ... for John to be under threat .. it scared him.  
It brought back memories for Paul of feeling trapped. Of there being no way out. No one to turn to for help because whoever you went to they were part of it. Part of the scene.   
They all had connections. And it was all so undercover. To innocent unsuspecting observers these were fine, upstanding professional people. But Paul had experienced a much darker side. A hidden side. Like a Mafia. No use complaining. No use begging. If you were marked then God help you. Because no one else would, that was for sure.

It was no surprise to John that he was woken in the early hours by Paul having a nightmare.  
What WAS different was the fact Paul refused to go back to sleep, sitting up in bed, hugging his knees, his eyes wide and dark shadowed.  
He couldn't go back to sleep because he might fall back into the same dream. A dream he'd not had before.  
And in it John was dead.   
He couldn't tell John that.  
He hugged his knees even tighter to his chest, shutting out John's pleas for him to at least TRY and get some sleep.  
A hint of impatience tinged John's voice. He was shattered and they both had work the next day .. no, scrub that ... in a few hours.  
"Paul, come on, please .. just .. try. I'm here, if you..."  
Paul shook his head, not wanting to risk John's ire but far more terrified of that dream. Of falling back into it.  
John sighed and groaned as he flopped back down, finding himself staring at Paul's rounded back bent over his knees.  
"Paulie."  
Another shake.  
John groaned again, and got up, tying his dressing gown around him and heading downstairs.  
Paul stared after him with sleep deprived eyes, then sank his head down between his knees again.  
He was cold, but he dared not pull the covers round him in case the warmth made him sleepy.  
Next moment, John was nudging him, a steaming hot mug of tea in his hand.  
Their eyes met. Paul thought he might read annoyance in John's eyes, but he was met only with sympathy.  
And a smile. "You're a pain in the neck, y'know."  
Paul smiled back. "Not in the arse?"  
"Oh aye, that too."

They physically dragged themselves through the next day, tired and worn. Paul was already dreading that night in case the same happened again.  
And then Stu arrived just before closing time. Still dressed in black leather.   
He glanced over at Paul, and Paul lifted his chin, defiant. But in Stu's eyes he saw genuine concern. "How are you?"  
Paul just nodded. He didn't like the fact he felt exposed in front of Stu. Aware of the fact Stu probably knew about his past. It rankled.  
"You look like shite, man" Stu said to John.  
John yawned widely. "Fuckin' knackered, mate." To his credit he didn't blame his tiredness on Paul.  
Tidying up the teaching room Paul could hear a murmured conversation going on between them. He hovered near the door hoping to catch the gist of it.  
"..who it was .." .."someone said.." .."a local buyer, got a gallery.." ..".yeah, loaded .. y'wanna see..".."he's worried .. not a wink .. all fuckin' night .."  
Paul switched the light off and moved out into the shop. The two men straightened up immediately, both looking over at him.  
"Stu was just saying he's still interested in painting us ... what d'you reckon?"  
Paul could feel Stu's eyes boring into him. He fixed on John's face. "Whatever you want."  
John shook his head. "No, it's not, Paul. It's not 'whatever I want' .. what do YOU want? What do YOU think?"  
Paul looked at Stu. "Do we have to come to you?"  
Surprised to have Paul address him, Stu started, standing up straight. "Well .. yeah, preferably, but .."  
Paul cut him off. "..'cos I can't. I can't go anywhere. I'm tagged, you see."  
Paul threw it defiantly at Stu, to John's surprise. Paul NEVER spoke about the tag. Ever.  
John's gaze swung between the two young men, feeling the tension. Paul was usually such a complacent character with other people. What was it about Stu that rattled him?  
"Well, Paulie, that's not EXACTLY true, is it?" Woah! John felt the glare Paul shot at him. John came back quickly. "You're free to go where you like on a Sunday, within reason."  
Sunday. Paul's heart sank. That was THEIR day. Lazy mornings. Late breakfasts. Walks in the park.  
John saw the emotions follow swiftly one after the other across Paul's face.   
He backed down. "Maybe better leave it till later in the year. Paul .. er .. Paul's sentence ends in July, so .."  
Stu's ears pricked. Paul was serving a sentence? John hadn't said. He'd chatted about Paul but had never....  
Stu looked at Paul. "Sorry .. I didn't know. Yeah .. July. It'll be cool. Hope you'll still be up for it."  
John nodded briskly, making up for Paul's lack of enthusiasm. "Yeah. Great. July. We'll make it a definite."  
Negative vibes were rolling off Paul in the direction of Stu. The temperature seemed to drop by several degrees.  
Stu moved away from the counter, shoving his hands in his pockets. "Yeah. Good. I'd, er, best be off. Just wanted to check you were both okay." Stu nodded at Paul, who stared implaccably back at him. "Keep in touch, John. Text me, eh?"  
Another negative vibe hit Stu.   
He shivered, nodded, and ducked out the door.  
John turned to Paul in a mixture of annoyance and amusement. "What's he ever done to you, eh?"  
Paul blinked, feigning innocence. "Hmm?"  
John shook his head, and pulled Paul into his arms.  
After a second's hesitation, Paul sighed, and leant in, resting his tired head on John's shoulder, breathing in the familiar scent.

"You get to bed .. I'll just stay down here."  
John sat down on the arm of the settee, aghast. "Paul, don't be stupid. You're gonna be so tired."  
"No, I'm not. I'm fine."  
John gazed at him, taking in the dark shadows under the hazel eyes.   
"Fuckin' liar."  
Paul stiffened. John caught his hand. "Please, Paul, come to bed. At least TRY and get some sleep. You can't have another night without."  
Paul was tired. So tired he could have fallen asleep on his feet. But he couldn't face that same dream again. He'd felt so helpless. And it was scary. Really scary.  
John's thumb ran comforting circles over the back of his hand, his voice enticing. "Come on, Paul. Please. For me."  
"I could wake you again."  
"It's a risk I'll take."

Paul woke in a cold sweat, the same scene as the previous night running through his head. He glanced down at John, fast asleep beside him, absolutely shattered from the previous night's lack of sleep. It was a reassuring sight to Paul. He ran a trembling hand over his face and through his tousled hair, and slipped out of bed. Grabbing John's t-shirt and slipping it on, he padded quietly out of the room, intending to make himself a coffee. He was startled to see light glimmering underneath the parlour door, then remembered that Ritchie had been on a night shift. Gently he pushed the door open, and Ritchie jumped at the sight of a half-naked Paul, hair sticking in all directions.   
"Paul? Are you okay?"  
Paul nodded. "Mm. Can't sleep."  
"Tea? Coffee?"  
Paul folded himself up onto the comfy chair, curling his legs underneath him. "Coffee, please."  
Ritchie raised an eyebrow. He didn't ever recall Paul drinking coffee.  
By the time Ritchie had made a mug of coffee, Paul had fallen to sleep, sliding down on the chair, head hanging awkwardly off. Tutting to himself, Ritchie put the coffee down and considered the situation. First off he couldn't leave Paul like that ... the lad would have one almighty crick in his neck if left in that position. He grabbed a bean bag and a big cushion and by dint of wedging the two together managed to manoeuvre Paul's head into a more comfortable position without waking him. Secondly he considered Paul's somewhat exposed appearance .. nothing but a t-shirt was not likely to keep him warm. Ritchie pulled the throw off the settee and wrapped it around Paul's slumbering figure. Thirdly he considered the whole situation .. probably not a good idea to leave Paul down here on his own in case he woke and became confused or had another nightmare. Ritchie shrugged. Nothing for it but to sleep down here himself as well. Without further ado he dragged his duvet off the bed and settled down on the settee near to Paul. Thumping a cushion into submission as a pillow, he shook his head in amusement. His own house and he was reduced to sleeping downstairs. Well, he had to help these two buggers somehow.

Ritchie woke to the sight of two screwed up eyes staring myopically into his face just a few inches away. Blinking rapidly, Ritchie focused, the previous night coming back in a rush.  
John's face split in a wide grin "What y'doin' Ritchie?"  
Ritchie glanced across at Paul who was still fast asleep. He smiled, wiggling his eyebrows. "Keepin' your boyfriend company."  
Ritchie pushed himself up onto his elbows, and John squatted back on his heels.  
"Did y' sleep?"  
John nodded affirmatively. "Like a fucking log. I was bloody knackered." He tipped a thumb in Paul's direction. "What time did he come down?"  
Ritchie thought back. "Must have been about two'ish. I got home just before. Made meself a drink and was gonna go to bed." Ritchie glanced at the untouched coffee. "Made Paul a drink but he'd gone out like a light. Didn't want to leave him an' it seemed a shame to wake him."  
John gave a wavery grin. "Appreciate that, mate."  
"S'okay." Despite the contorted position Paul looked quite comfortable. "He's worried, ain' he."  
John nodded seriously. "Yeah. I guess he's seen a few things in his time. He's convinced that I'll have a mafia gang after me. I don't know how to stop him worrying. I've told him I'll be careful." John shoved his fingers through his hair, making it stick up in tufts. "He's such a fuckin' worrier. Beginin' to wish we'd never gone to that bloody exhibition."  
"Can't turn the clock back. Just gotta deal with it."  
"Yeah, well, I don't reckon the guy'll do anything. He knows what he suggested and that it's wrong. The law'd be on my side, particularly if it concerns Paul."  
Ritchie stretched aching muscles. "Trouble is these guys operate below the radar don't they. And they all have connections."  
Fuck. John looked sharply at Ritchie. That fucking word again.  
"Paul's always saying that."  
"What?"  
"Muttering on about connections."  
Ritchie shrugged. "Well, he above all should know." Ritchie threw the duvet off him. "What time is it?"  
"Just after seven. Sorry, you've not had much sleep."  
"Ah, it's okay. I can get some kip while your at work. I'm not in till five today. I hate this shift. A proper graveyard one."  
A loud yawn sounded from Paul's corner of the room and both men glanced over as a tousled head emerged and a couple of arms stretched upwards, fingers spreading widely.  
"Thswatimisyt?"  
Ritchie frowned, but John just gave an amused smile. "Just after seven and no not yet."  
"Ahkay" and Paul buried his head back between his arms, shifting to find a more comfortable position.  
Impressed Ritchie looked at John. "You understood that?"  
John shrugged modestly. "Y' get used to it."

Maybe it was because Paul had managed to get a good sleep that he seemed more relaxed, although John couldn't help but notice the concerned glances that kept shooting his way. Wednesday was often a really busy day with a succession of regular customers and passing trade. Paul had made a display up of singles that had been hanging around for years, showcasing a rainbow effect design that decorated the front window. Maybe it was that that encouraged a few extra customers through their door. Whatever, it had been a busy day, and before they knew it they were on their way back home. The following day was Paul's day at the Care Home. He always enjoyed it, but he was concerned about the fact he wasn't going to be around to watch out for John. He didn't feel John was taking this threat seriously. Neither was he sure how to raise his concerns without John getting his ire up.  
Watching his boyfriend chew absent mindedly on his fingernails, it was finally John who raised the question.  
"Come on, Macca, spit it out."  
Paul stopped chewing his nails and chewed his bottom lip instead. "Y'know, tomorrow ..."  
When no more came John prompted "Yeah, tomorrow?"  
Paul pulled at an invisible thread on his jumper. The words tumbled out, confused. "Youwillbecareful'cosy'knowIdon't..I..I'mnot..John...justtakecareyeah?"  
Smiling, John pulled Paul tightly into his arms. "I'll take care. I promise. I'll watch me back and me front and every side in between okay?"  
Paul nodded into John's shoulder. "I couldn't bear it if anything should happen to you."  
"It won't."  
Paul gazed searchingly into John's eyes, as if he was boring into John's very soul itself. Next moment, he had captured John's lips, chasing him, seeking entry. There was anxiety mixed in with the passion, John could feel it.   
"I love you" Paul breathed heavily into John's neck as he broke off to catch his breath.  
John rubbed his nose in Paul's hair, relishing the familiar smell of coconut and soap and Paul himself.  
"I love you too."

The following morning Paul was like a cat on tenterhooks, his fingers refusing to fold a tie, his socks twisting inside out. He kept shooting sidelong glances at John.  
"You .. you will text me, won't you" he blurted out while struggling to button his shirt with fingers that were all thumbs.  
"Yeah, course I will."  
"When you .. y'know .. get there."  
"Of course, Paul."  
"And .. maybe later, too. Just to let me know you're okay."  
"Later too" John confirmed.  
Paul was so serious about it all John had to hide his smile.  
"Just, y'know, be careful. Keep an eye out."  
John nodded. "Both eyes."  
Paul smiled. John loved his smile. And it was all for him.  
He ruffled the top of Paul's head, messing up the carefully done locks. "Come on, Macca, or we'll both be late."

John dutifully texted Paul. It was a quiet day anyway. Thursdays always were. Jacob and Rob popped into the shop at various times to update John about their proposed move to France, but other than that there were only about five customers all day. John managed to get a lot of sorting, tidying and cataloguing done though. It was quite a surprise to him to discover it was almost five o' clock. By the time he arrived home he could see Paul in the front window, watching out for him. The front door was flung open before John had even reached it and he found himself pulled into Paul's arms.  
"Woah! What a greeting."  
Paul dimpled shyly, hiding his face in John's coat. "Justgladyourbacksafe" he mumbled.  
John prised Paul off him. "How was your day?"  
Paul's face lit up like a lightbulb. "Oh, brilliant. John, I'm gonna do a concert. A spring concert. I've got this choir going an' .. do you know? .. they can sing in parts .. a bit rusty, but it sounds awesome, and they're so delighted and happy to be doing that and they've got lots of ideas for songs they could do an' we thought we'd put it on about mid March on a Sunday and invite relatives and staff and do it properly, y'know, with a programme, and then we could serve tea and cakes after and it ..."  
John jokingly put his hand over Paul's mouth just to shut him up. For a moment the hazel eyes widened in annoyance, then Paul suddenly licked John's palm.  
"Euch!!" John let go swiftly, wiping his hand down his trouser leg, and Paul burst out laughing.  
"Ha! Serve you right."  
"Fucking hell, Paul. Let me get in. All I asked was 'how was your day?' .. y' could have said 'okay' y'know, not treated me to a sermon."  
John shook his head fondly, closing the door behind him. "Anyway, it sounds great. A fab idea. Make me a cup of tea and tell me more."  
With a smile, Paul spun on his heels and headed to the kitchen, John's longing gaze watching the tall graceful figure disappear.

Over tea Paul poured out his ideas to John. To John's ears it sounded as if Paul had the whole thing organised.  
"An' what does the matron think?"  
Paul took a sip of his rapidly cooling drink. He frowned, disconcerted. It was hot when he made it. Had he really been talking so long?  
"Fine, she's cool with it. Thinks it a good idea. No .. an 'excellent' idea. An' d'you know John " Paul turned to him excitedly. John braced himself for another wordy barrage. "The old folks are SO excited about it. I feel as if I'm organising a concert for school kids, not old folks. They're twittering on about it .."  
"..just like you then .." John mumbled quietly under his breath.  
Paul ignored him, now on a roller."...they say they've never done anything like that before.."  
"..that's 'cos there's been no one to play the piano..." John was a bit louder this time.  
Paul halted, glared at him, then gave him a playful punch.  
John beamed back. He loved Paul. Loved that enthusiasm over music.   
He caught Paul's forearm and with a flick of the wrist tumbled him into his lap.  
"Johnnnn .. mmmph.."  
"Paul, just shurrup for a minute, yeah?"  
Paul stopped still.   
John looked fondly at him.   
"I love ya to bits but y' don't half gab."  
Paul raised a perfectly arched eyebrow.  
John poked him on the nose.  
Paul scrunched his face up.


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A lover's spat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To whoever recommended my fic Got to get you into my Life to McLennonrecs....THANK YOU!!! SO excited.  
> And thanks to all who are following this sequel. Got a bit bogged down in this chapter when it took a turn I hadn't planned, but hopefully I've rescued it.

Paul's thoughts oscillated between his worry for John and the concert he was planning and the two concerns fully occupied his mind for the next few days. John watched his boyfriend with amusement ... without any mask on Paul was incredibly easy to read. One moment his eyes would take on a glazed look and he could be heard humming under his breath ... and the notes didn't make a tune therefore, John assumed, they must be underneath harmony parts. Next moment Paul's eyes would sharply focus on John, assessing him, a tiny but perfect v crease between Paul's equally perfect eyebrows. Well ... if nothing else, it was keeping him busy, John mused. Be thankful for small mercies.

Although John appeared to shrug off any concerns of Paul's, nonetheless he was careful to watch his back. He was fairly sure there would be no comebacks from punching that creep, but he wasn't going to take any risks. Anyway, Paul wouldn't let him. Take risks, that is. He was firmly attached to John's side when they travelled to and from work, and assessed every customer with an icy glare from the second they entered the shop, just in case they were a threat. So much so that by the end of the week John was surprised they had any clients left at all.  
All seemed quiet, though.  
Should he worry?

John had received a text, however, from Stu .. and he decided, after a moment's thought .. not to tell Paul. Stu had over heard a conversation between a couple of guys about what had happened, and Paul's name had crept into the conversation. His curiosity piqued, Stu had hovered, but glancing over his shoulder one guy had become aware of Stu eavesdropping, and the dialogue immediately ceased. His face colouring, Stu had collected his own paintings and cleared out swiftly. Once out in the fresh air he'd paused, and taken out his mobile. His face scrunched up in concentration he'd debated internally whether or not to tell John the incident hadn't quite been forgotten, as they'd hoped. Stu, after all, felt partly involved as it had been his idea to invite John to the exhibition. He smoothed his fingers over his phone, considering. Should he worry John with it? He frowned, looking but not seeing the surrounding street and buildings. Then he set his lips in a firm line, decision made. Grasping his phone tightly, before he could change his mind, Stu punched a few terse words to John. Maybe, if they met face to face, it would be easier. As long as Paul wasn't with him.   
'Hope ur ok. Drink? Weekend?' Stu hesitated, a brief mental image of John flashing into his mind, then pressed send.

John's phone pinged with the message, and he noted it was from Stu. He cast a casual glance over at Paul, who was looking at him quizzically.  
Fuck. Could the bugger read his mind?   
"Y' okay?"   
Paul nodded. He had a suspicious glint in his eye.  
"Wasn't that your phone?"  
Bloody hell. This was like having a jealous girlfriend.  
He feigned innocence. "Was it?"  
Paul frowned. "Yeah. Y'going deaf? I heard it. Anyway, y' glanced at it so you must know it went off."  
John coloured. "Uh .. uh .. yeah. Wasn't sure. Thought, mebbe .." he glanced at the phone in his hands and tried, dismally, to continue the farce he'd begun. "Oh .. oh, yeah, it was .. you're right."  
Paul's frown deepened, and a tiny nag began at the back of his brain.  
"Who was it?"  
John could have continued digging the hole he'd found himself in or just come clean. He opted for the latter, knowing that Paul would have a hissy fit.  
"It's, er .. it's Stu."  
John saw Paul's face alter. He smoothed his thumb over the face of his phone. Not quite meeting his boyfriend's narrowed eyes.  
"Just checking we're okay," he lied. Well, not quite a lie. Half a one. He didn't mention the drink bit.  
"Why shouldn't we be?" Christ this lad could freeze the balls off someone if he tried.  
"He's just being polite, Paul."  
For a moment Paul's eyes were fixed on John's, as if he could drill the truth out of him. Then, with a shrug, he turned back to the job he'd been doing, muttering something under his breath. What John wouldn't have liked to guess.  
Hiding a smile, John shifted the focus onto something closer to Paul's heart. "How's the plans for the concert going then? I've heard you running over a few things."  
Paul spun round, his eyes alight. "Oh, great. I had this idea for Chattanooga Choo Choo ... y'know the one?..." Immediately Paul started singing it, and John relaxed.  
World War Three averted again.

While Paul was busy having a shower, John texted Stu back.  
"Everything ok?"  
A reply came back promptly. "Think so. Got time for a drink?"  
John chewed his thumbnail. He assumed Stu meant on his own .. i.e. without Paul.   
A hypothetical scenario appeared in John's head ... imagine if he arrived with Paul? He'd be stuck in the middle fending them off each other.  
Interesting. Thanks, but, no thanks.  
"Depends."  
"On what?" Stu queried.  
"On Paul."  
There was no reply for a few minutes. John began to think that must be the end of the conversation when another text came in.  
"Leave the wife at home."  
"Cheeky!" John texted back.  
Another few minutes silence, and John heard the shower switch off. He was hastily shoving his phone in the back pocket of his jeans when it pinged again with another message just as Paul entered the room, bollock naked and rubbing his wet hair with a towel. He glanced up sharply at the sound and the sight of John shoving his phone into his pocket.  
Their eyes met.  
John was sure he was blushing. His neck felt warm.   
That was something Paul did, not him.  
And chewing thumbnails? When had he started that habit?  
Were their traits getting confused?  
"Who you texting?"  
Yes, he was blushing. John could feel the heat rise. "Er .. no one .. that is .."  
One perfect eyebrow arched upwards. "No one?"  
"Erm .. yeah .. no one."  
Paul had stopped rubbing his hair and was standing still, distractingly gorgeous with nothing on. John felt the heat shoot to his groin as well as his face. His eyes didn't know where to look. Or not look.  
"Is that no one called Stu?" Paul's tone was accusatory. John flinched.  
"Mm .. might be."  
To John's surprise Paul flung the wet towel at him. John caught it by reflex, startled.  
"For fuck sake, John, it either is or isn't."  
John could only stand clutching the wet rag, totally distracted by Paul .. with nothing on .. by his legs ... and that taut stomach with the line of dark hair .. and .. and ... where it led to .. his brain slowly turning to mush he could just about formulate the words 'oh my God I'm totally fucked' before he dropped the towel on the floor and grasped Paul by the arms, effectively silencing him with a desperate and passionate kiss that took both their breaths away. As Paul pulled back John captured him again, feeling Paul's arousal pressing against his leg, and his own jeans began to feel a size too small in protest. John lathered sloppy kisses all up the side of Paul's freshly shaved cheeks, tasting the soap, tasting the cologne, tasting the man himself while Paul squirmed and twisted in his arms.  
Gripping tightly onto Paul's biceps John determinedly held on until he felt Paul relax against him, at which point John pulled back slightly, and found himself gazing into a pair of dark, lust filled eyes that had a peculiar shade of green flashing in their depths.   
A smile curved John's lips. "You're jealous," he whispered into the shell of Paul's ear.  
He felt Paul shiver. "Maybe."  
Well, at least the guy was honest.  
It made John feel good about himself.

Thursday evening and something was bothering Paul. From the moment John had arrived home Paul had hovered, chewing his thumbnail, gnawing his bottom lip, shoving restless fingers into his pockets and doing a funny little shuffle dance before going through the whole routine again.   
John calmly sipped a cup of tea and waited. And waited. He pretended to ignore Paul. He had discovered that was the best way of getting to the root of anything with his boyfriend. Ignore him and eventually he'll come to the .....  
"John?"  
...point.  
"John??"  
A good cup of tea. Paul might be a rubbish cook, but he could make ..  
"John????" ... tea.  
John smiled. "Yes Paul?"  
He could smell Paul's aftershave, and the coconut shampoo he used, and the warmth of the body that was nestling against him. Nestling? When had Paul squashed into that tiny space by him? A moment ago he'd been over by the door. John looked in bemusement at the proximity of Paul beside him.  
Paul was madly chewing his thumbnail while mumbling what sounded like a load of apologies. John shook his head. He found this young man totally distracting and all he ever wanted to do when Paul got this close was fuck him. John started. Had he just said that out loud? Because Paul had stopped talking and had taken his thumb out of his mouth and was looking at him in a peculiar way.  
Then a smile split Paul's face from ear to ear, lighting up the whole of that gorgeous face.  
John cursed himself. He probably had said it. Now Paul was beginning to chuckle. He had, hadn't he. Next moment Paul had slid helplessly into John's lap, tears of laughter running down his face. John struggled to hold on to his demeanour, then gave up gracefully, joining Paul in a hooting, side splitting fit of the giggles.  
When they both finally calmed down Paul was able to launch his original concern at John.   
"It's the concert..."  
Paul was now sitting in John's lap, his backside deliciously nestled between John's thighs. John was rubbing his back in distracting circles.   
Paul tried to ignore that fact, or he was never gonna be able to say what he needed to say.  
And hope John was okay with. Oops.  
"It's goin' okay y'know but it's a week on Sunday, the concert, that is .." he was aware of John humming and rubbing and just being bloody distracting " and .. and I need some extra rehearsal time with them and I saidI'dgoonSundayafternoon...." Paul trailed off, his words diminuendoing as he looked anxiously at John from round dark eyes.   
It took a moment to sink in with John.  
Ah. Sunday afternoon. So THAT'S why Paul was bothered. They'd always regarded it as sacrosanct. Their day.  
Well, Paul had, really. It didn't bother John too much as he was secure in his relationship with Paul, but obviously, and for understandable reasons, Paul hadn't been as secure, and had felt the need to create spaces for them. John continued to rub soothing circles on Paul's back, thinking. It would free him up to meet up with Stu. Go and have a drink. How convenient.  
Better not look too enthusiastic, though, John chided himself. "Oh! Oh, what a shame. Never mind. I can always find something to do for a couple of hours till you're back. No problem. I'm sure it'll all go better for an extra run-through anyway."  
John could feel Paul's eyes boring into him. "You don't mind?"  
"Nah. Course I don't."  
"You could come with me." Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck no no way.  
"Oh, it's okay, Paul, think I'll pass on that, ta all the same. It'll spoil the surprise when I actually get to see the concert."  
From the corner of his eye he saw Paul's face drop a little. So he gave his back an extra rub.  
"I'll be fine. Don't worry about me."  
"What will you do?"  
'Go for a drink with Stu, but ain't telling YOU that.' John thought to himself, then smiled reassuringly at his boyfriend. "I'll think of something."   
Paul looked closely at him, then leaned forward and kissed the tip of John's nose. "Thanks, Johnny."

John shot the text off quickly before he could feel guilty about it.  
'Three Crowns at 2 Sunday?"  
It was a few hours later when the confirmation text came through from Stu.  
John told himself it was because he didn't want to upset Paul.   
But really it was because he didn't know how to cope with Paul's antagonism of Stu.  
John loved both guys .. not in the same way, obviously ... and wanted them to at least like each other. But .. John sighed .. it seemed that wasn't going to happen.  
And John had a nagging feeling the culprit was Paul. The animosity was all coming from him. Stu had at least attempted to be friendly. At least, John THOUGHT he had.

So John waved Paul off to his rehearsal on Sunday afternoon with reassurances that he, John, would be fine, quite happy, thank you, plenty to do.  
As soon as Paul had gone, John grabbed his leather jacket and headed for the front door.  
Ritchie looked up quizzically from the crossword he was doing. "Where you off to in such a hurry then?"  
John pulled a blue and purple striped beanie over his hair. "Goin' for a drink."  
Ritchie frowned. "Who with?"  
John set his face. He would NOT be made to feel guilty. "Stu," he replied tersely.  
Ritchie mouthed a silent 'oh', continuing to watch him, then "Does Paul know?"  
John was short. "No he fucking doesn't. An' he's not gonna know. I'll be back."  
Ritchie's blue eyes widened and he raised an eyebrow. "Oh. Oh right." He straightened the paper with a snap. "Just make sure you are, then, eh? Back, that is."  
His eyes had returned, lowered, to the paper in front of him.  
John hesitated. He could feel the reprimand in Ritchie's abrupt dismissal.  
"It's only a drink, Ritch."  
Ritchie nodded without looking back up. "Yup. So you said. See you in a bit then."

John found Stu sitting up a corner of the old pub, two pints on the table in front of him, one already started on. At the sight of John, Stu's face lit up and they greeted one another joyfully. John slid onto the bench seat alongside him and took a deep pull of his beer. Watching him, Stu asked, with a twinkle in his eye "Where's the wife, then?"  
John bantered good naturedly "Off taking a choir practice."  
For a second they looked at each other then burst out laughing.  
"Serious?" asked Stu, wiping his eyes.  
John nodded, "Yup, serious. Paul's got this choir going in a care home an' he's putting on a concert an' he's got them singing. It's all he talks about at the moment. He's full of it."   
There was a touch of pride in John's voice that Stu immediately picked up on. "Good at music, is he, then?"  
John nodded vigorously and proceeded to inform Stu of all of Paul's attributes and musical abilities. Listening carefully Stu felt a slight pang of jealousy. He and John had once been very close ... closer than he'd ever really admitted to anyone .... and he recalled the fact that John had once held this regard for him and his artistic talents in the way that he obviously did now for Paul. He pushed down that pang he felt. After all, it had been years ago, and they'd both moved on. John had found another boyfriend and he had met a wonderful young German photographer with whom he was still close, even if their lives had taken different paths. They'd been so young at the time. And one cannot turn the clock back.

They spent a good hour or more reminiscing about the escapades they'd had, catching up on the movement of mutual friends, and Stu entertained John with stories of his time in Germany where he'd studied for a couple of years. John counteracted with stories of his time working for Liverpool City Council and the amusing letters that had used to come in from residents regarding a multitude of problems from mice in the house to birds nests being built in chimneys. John took his glasses off and wiped the tears of laughter from his eyes after relating one hilarious story to Stu.  
He shook his head. "I don't miss the job but I miss those letters. You could write a bloody comedy show based on them."  
They gathered in another round of beers, and John began telling Stu about life at Retro Records and how he'd met Ritchie. From Ritchie it was but one step to Paul arriving on the scene. Stu watched John closely as he spoke of his boyfriend. It was obvious to anyone who knew him well that John was smitten. Stu wasn't sure if that made his job any easier. But at least it had raised the subject of Paul, and therefore cleared Stu's way 

As John finished talking, Stu swilled his beer round in the glass, perusing it with dark eyes as he tried to voice the concerns that had brought him to contact John in the first place. "So .. you mentioned, or Paul did, the other day, that he's serving a sentence." Stu glanced up in time to see a flash of emotion cross John's face, only to swiftly disappear. "What for? If you don't mind my asking."  
John pursed his lips up. "Drugs" he replied briefly.  
Stu's eyes flickered at the terse reply. "Drugs?" He was curious. Paul didn't look like a junkie .. or even an ex one.  
"Yeah. Dealing and selling. Class A, before you ask."  
Stu gave a low whistle. "Wow, man, that's..."  
"It wasn't his fault" John barrelled in swiftly, and Stu glanced up at him, startled.  
John glared into his beer as if it had done him a wrong. "He was made to do it. It's .. that .. that's why he got a light sentence. Mitigating circumstances, they called it. It could have been worse. Much worse. It carries a life sentence, so .. " John shrugged. "I guess we should be grateful for the fact that he only got a year, partly served by community service and, well, like he said to you, he's tagged, so we can't just go anywhere. He has a curfew as well .. he can't be out after six."  
"Sorry, I didn't know. I didn't realise."  
John took another swig of his beer. "No reason you should. He doesn't exactly shout about it."  
Silence fell between the two men as Stu digested this information. Then he leaned forward to murmur quietly to John.  
"I heard a couple of guys talking when I went back to get my paintings the other day. That was when I texted you. I didn't want to tell you over the phone. They were talking about what went on and I caught Paul's name mentioned..."  
John's head jerked up, startled, alarm in the amber eyes. He stared speechlessly at Stu, his knuckles white around the beer glass.  
"What were they sayin'?"  
Stu shook his head. "Unfortunately I didn't catch it all. They shut up once they realised I was there. I just felt that .... maybe I ought to let you know .. the incident obviously wasn't forgotten and .. well, sorry, John, but ... I don't know how to put this nicely. Paul's name .. it's not the first time I've heard it and .. " Stu trailed off, unsure. He didn't like the glint he saw in John's eye. He felt he was treading onto dangerous territory. John was obviously very protective of Paul.  
"In what connection?" John's voice was a low growl.   
Stu coloured, but held his ground. He'd known this guy long enough to know that his bark was far worse than his bite.  
Stu's reply was quiet but firm. "What connection would you assume, John? Come on."  
"It's not fucking fair" John spoke into his beer, his cheeks burning a blotchy red.  
Stu drew absent mindedly on the table with a long forefinger, his eyes downcast. "Look, John, I'm not asking for details..."  
"...good!!"  
Stu breathed heavily through his nostrils. Bloody John. So difficult to talk to. "..but your Paul has a reputation."  
John's eyes were icy, boring into him. "Think I don't know that? Think you're telling me something I don't know?"  
Stu put his hands up in front of him. "Ay, ay, back off. I'm just trying to help here."  
John was bristling now. "In what way? What way are you trying to help?"  
Stu thought rapidly. In what way was he trying to help? What had got him here with John? Was it because he was curious? Was it because he wanted to warn John that maybe .. just maybe .. there might be unforeseen repercussions from that night? .. was it because he couldn't believe John was actually in a relationship with someone whose name was linked to dubious activities? John was a warm guy. A trusting guy. Did he really know about Paul or had Paul, in some conniving way, pulled the wool over his eyes?  
"Your Paul.."  
"I know." John looked blankly at Stu, daring him. "I know about Paul. There's nothing that you can tell me that I don't already know."  
Stu shifted, uncomfortable. He spoke to the floor in a mumble. "John, the things I've heard said .. you wouldn't credit .."  
"I probably fucking would. Do you think Paul chose that life? Is that what you dragged me here for, Stu? To tell on him?"  
Stu shook his head. "No, John, not just that. Not at all. I wasn't sure if you knew who you'd got mixed up with."  
"I know very well who I've got mixed up with, thank you very much."  
Stu put his hand up to halt John. "I'm not interfering. Please don't think that. Nor am I judging. But John, he's got a lot of baggage ..he's known in a lot of circles. Fuck, John, I'd heard about Paul ever before someone linked his name with yours."  
Anger simmered just below the surface as John's knuckles turned white. "Are you trying to warn me off him?"  
Stu faltered. He shook his head. He didn't know. He only knew he didn't want John to get hurt, either emotionally or physically. "I .. I .. er, no. No I'm not. I can see you two go together well. It shows. Honest it does. But I wasn't sure if you .. if you were aware. Of his reputation, that is." Stu chewed his bottom lip anxiously. He lowered his voice. "Sorry. You probably think I'm interfering."  
Stu was genuinely contrite. John could see it written all over his face.  
He sighed, relaxed his hold on the glass, and rubbed his hands over his face, offering Stu a shaky smile.  
"It's been a fucking difficult year with him. He has so many fuckin' hang up's you wouldn't believe. An' he's just starting to .. recover, really. Find himself. Come out of the shell he'd built around him. We didn't really need that stupid fucking incident to happen. Everytime we think it's getting better and life is moving on someone dumps a load of shit in front of us. In front of him."  
Stu watched John warily. He didn't want to rub the guy up the wrong way.  
John tore a beer mat up into tiny pieces, his eyes unfathomable behind slightly misted up glasses.  
"Paul's got his fucking knickers in a twist 'cos he's so bloody sure there'll be repercussions from me hitting that guy."  
Stu shifted uncomfortably, not saying anything.   
John looked up sharply at him, his eyes piercing. "What d'you think?"  
Stu thought quickly. Did he try and smooth it over? Ease the concern? He was aware John was waiting for a reply.  
Stu licked his suddenly dry lips. "I .. er .. I dunno, John." He couldn't meet John's eyes. He focused on a group of men in the far corner playing darts. Privately Stu considered Paul was probably correct. After all, he was the one who'd had experience of moving in these circles.  
"Do you know these fuckers?"  
Stu's eyes swivelled back to meet John's, a query in his eyes.  
"The ones talking about Paul," John clarified.  
Stu mulled the question over before replying. "I know of them, John. I know who they are. But I don't KNOW them, so to speak. They're not friends, if that's what you're thinking."  
A loaded silence fell as they got lost in their own thoughts.  
Stu surreptitiously glanced at his watch. "Do .. d'you fancy another drink?"  
John blinked owlishly behind his glasses. Suddenly dragged back to the present. He switched his phone on to check the time and noted a missed call from Paul. Fuck!!  
The time had flown. The bar felt crowded. His feet felt restless. He shoved the phone in his pocket and shook his head.  
"Thanks but no thanks, Stu. I'd better get back. The wife'll probably be home."  
Stu smiled, a tinge of sadness in his eyes.  
"Y'know, I didn't mean to .."  
John cut him off. "I know y' didn't, y' daft bugger. I appreciate that you were looking out for me."  
Stu nodded, the sorrow remaining. "Can we still meet up? I mean .. I realise you and Paul are an item, but having found you again I'd like to keep in touch."  
At the back of John's mind he winced. Christ knows what Paul would think to Stu's words, but .. "Yeah. Yeah, of course we can. It'll be good to see you." John winked, slowly. "Next time I might bring the wife along too."

John was late arriving back at the house. Much later than he'd intended. He shoved his jacket in the closet, at the same time sticking his head in the direction of the parlour.  
"I'm home!!" he called in a breezy, cheery voice that belied his true feelings. He heard a mumbled reply and, kicking off his shoes, opened the door into the parlour. Ritchie was still lounging on the settee although the newspaper had now been switched for a television programme on the hospital service.  
John frowned bemusedly. "Doing some homework are we, Ritch?"  
Ritchie glanced up with a smile. "Just like to hear what the public are saying about us is all. By the way " he nodded in the direction of the kitchen "the ice maiden is home."  
John's eyebrows rose. "Ice maiden?"  
Ritchie shrugged. "You'll see."

John pushed the door open into the kitchen and shut it quietly behind him, his eyes falling upon Paul who stood making a cup of tea.  
"Hiya. How did the practice go?" John kept his voice bright and breezy.  
Paul never even turned to look at him. He may as well have spoken to the wall.  
Maybe he should? John deliberated the idea. Begin a whole fucking conversation with the wall.   
He moved a step closer to Paul, whose eyes were fixed firmly on the cupboard in front of him. His face a set mask.  
"Paul?"  
John saw a muscle twitch. Always a dead giveaway with Paul.  
"You not talking to me, then?"  
Paul added boiling water to the mug in front of him.   
Tea. Hmm. Good idea. Odd he should fancy one after a couple of pints, but ... "Can I have one? If you're making, that is. Which you appear to be doing."  
John kept the chatter up to fill the silence.  
This was a side of Paul that scared John.  
He never was sure how to handle him when he was like this.  
Which, fortunately, wasn't too often.  
Be patient, he reminded himself. Paul had reasons for being like this. A self-protecting reason.  
Paul continued to make his own tea, completely ignoring John, although he slammed the mug down on the counter and closed the fridge door shut more violently than usual.  
John jiggled his hands in his pockets.  
Half of him wanted to grab Paul and fucking shake some sense into him.  
The other half knew that would do no good at all.  
The silence stretched on. And on.  
Right. If Paul wanted to be difficult, John could too. In fact difficult could be his middle name. If he so chose.  
"So ... I'll just go and stick me head down the loo and flush the chain then, shall I?"  
Paul turned to face John for the first time.  
He looked pale, totally drained of colour.  
"Where have you been, John?" Paul's voice was controlled and quiet but could have cut through glass.  
John continued to jiggle his hands in his pockets, playing with the house keys. What was this? A fucking interrogation?  
"Out" he replied sharply. Far sharper than he intended. He saw Paul wince at his tone.  
Paul's head swung back, his eyes training themselves on the cupboard again.  
"With Stu?"  
John tutted. "Oh for Christsake Paul ... yes. Does it matter? Yes with Stu. He's an old friend." John was hardly aware of his voice raising. "An old friend Paul. Do you know what that is? Someone you might like to sit and talk to occasionally if your current boyfriend didn't think you had it in mind to shag them."  
John found he was now looking at Paul's back.  
"Shit. Shit shit and fuck. What the hell's the matter with you?"  
He saw a tremor across Paul's shoulders, and he dropped his voice. "Paul?"  
He heard a mumbled reply, none of which made sense.  
John bit his lip. He shouldn't have said the things he did. He knew he shouldn't. It just all sort of spilled out. So what if Paul was a twat over Stu? They all had their hang ups, didn't they.  
"Look, I'm sorry, okay? I could have told you but I knew you'd act like this. Paul, are you even fucking listening to me? Jesus Christ, am I talking to meself here?"  
John found he was addressing Paul's stiff back. "Oh, fuck this. If you're gonna act stroppy then.."  
Paul swung round suddenly, his face still ashen. "I was worried, okay? I was .. was .. fuckin' worried..."   
John stopped, perturbed. He could see the fear in Paul's eyes.   
He sighed, rubbed his face, shook his head. "Look, Paul..."  
"I came home and you weren't here and .. and you hadn't said you were going out. And I didn't know where you were and Ritchie didn't know.." John winced visibly. Ritchie HAD known but obviously not let on."..and I thought .. I thought.." Paul blinked rapidly, trying to hold himself together. He stared down into the mug he was gripping tightly.  
"I don't mind you going out with Stu" he mumbled. "I don't hold the rights to you. But I wish you'd just told me. I want to trust you, John. I need to trust you."  
Fuck.   
John felt a right little shit.  
He moved towards Paul and Paul, either consciously or unconsciously, moved away.  
John halted. Unsure. He'd messed up big time here. It suddenly hit him.  
"I'm sorry."  
Paul glanced up, his eyes suspiciously bright. There was a shrug.  
John saw Paul gather himself together. He saw the shutters come down. He saw the tilt of the chin.   
Then Paul moved past him, hardly brushing his shoulders as he did so. "Excuse me. I've got things I need to do."  
John didn't make a move to stop him. He just stood there in the kitchen, his eyes following Paul's exit.  
As the door swung to behind Paul, John uttered one word. "Fuck!"

When Paul had left the Care Home he'd been euphoric. The rehearsal had gone so much better than he ever dreamed it would. All the harmony parts that he'd heard in his head had come alive in front of him. The old people had looked at each other, eyes shining. Who would have thought they could do something like this? Paul's fingers had flown across the keys of the piano, instinctively finding the chords, the harmonic changes, teasing out every nuance. As he dashed for the bus he took his phone out of his pocket, anxious to share his success with John. Seeing the green bus in the distance Paul put on an extra spurt for the bus stop, his fingers gripping the phone tightly while he listened to the ringing tone. As the bus pulled up the phone went to voice mail. Paul shrugged, and shoved it back in his pocket. He'd be home soon anyway and would be able to tell John all about it.

But John wasn't at home. Ritchie swore he didn't know where he'd gone. But Ritchie didn't lie very well. Paul caught the shift in the blue eyes. Ritchie was covering up.  
If John had gone out on his own he could have got hurt.  
Anyone could be watching for him.  
But maybe he wasn't on his own. Maybe ...  
Paul began chewing his thumbnail absent mindedly.  
Maybe he was with someone.  
Maybe that someone was Stu.  
Who he'd known for a long time.  
Who he had a history with.  
Who was more clever .. and talented .. and attractive .. and personable .. than him.  
Maybe John was fed up of him.

Ritchie's eyes were on him. Watching the shift of emotions. Saw him fold in on himself.  
Next second Ritchie was facing a stone cold expression.

Paul had left John standing in the kitchen and taken his tea upstairs, his mind in a whirl.  
He had things to do. Ideas that had sprung from the afternoon's rehearsal. Music to work out for tomorrow's pupils. Commitments.  
He put the tea down on the bedside table, fingers shaking slightly. From out of his guitar case he lifted a workbook. It was filled with small neat writing. His list of to dos. Methodically ticked off when each one was achieved. It gave him a sense of achievement. Also it helped to keep him focused when things went wobbly. When he went wobbly.  
Shoving the conversation with John out of his mind Paul wrote down an assessment of the rehearsal and what he could do to improve the songs. Then he scanned his list of Monday pupils. He needed to sort chords for one of the songs. Simplify them somehow.  
He heard the bedroom door open and knew it was John, but he kept his gaze fixed on the work in progress. Taking a clean page out of another folder, Paul spread it on the bed beside him and picked up his guitar that was nestling against the bed, checking the tuning.  
John hovered.  
Paul ignored him.  
It was the only way he could cope.  
Fingers strumming the strings, trying out alternative keys,searching for an easy option.  
The bed dipped as John sat down.  
Paul shifted away slightly so John was left looking at his back.  
He heard John sigh, then the bed bounced lightly as John stood up again, and the door closed behind him.  
Paul stopped playing.  
He screwed his eyes tightly shut.  
Pulled his defences around him.

"You two not talking then?" It was an obvious question guilelessly asked.  
John shrugged.  
Ritchie raised his eyebrows.  
"Well, at least it's quiet."  
"Piss off, Ritch."  
Ritchie opened his mouth to say something, then shut it again.

John didn't think Paul had eaten. Stupid stubborn sod must have gone to bed at about eight o'clock. When John had gone upstairs Paul had been asleep, his back to the door.  
His back to John.  
Two can play at that game, John thought mulishly.  
So he slept with his back to Paul. And felt cold. He missed the warmth of Paul's arms around him.  
And there was the other cold. The cold that was a lack of love.

Paul seemed to be at least two steps in front of him as they went for the bus. Two steps in front of him into the shop.   
The other side of the room. Not talking. Not mixing.  
John thought he was doing it deliberately.  
Paul was struggling to hold it all together.

And then the final straw.   
Stu arrived.

Almost lunchtime. And Paul was hungry. John had been right that he'd not eaten the night before. He'd not managed breakfast either. And neither had John brought him his usual cup of tea. Not that that fact surprised Paul because, after all, they weren't talking. Paul felt butterflies starting to dance in his stomach. He dug his fingers into his hair and tugged. Just to prove to himself that he was there. Somewhere. Anywhere. That he was grounded. He must be because he could feel.  
Maybe John would suggest lunch?  
He WAS hungry.  
His eyes scanned the music room, looking at the folder placed on top of the piano ready for the evening's teaching.  
He wasn't sure he wanted to do it.  
They weren't talking, and he was confused.  
No he wasn't.  
Yes he was.  
Then the doorbell pinged and Stu was there. Looking across at him.  
How had he just got in there?  
Had he just materialised?  
Was he a vision Paul had just conjured up out of his head?  
The moment seemed to go on and on to Paul. Stu's eyes, looking at him. Seeing him.  
Something snapped.  
Paul picked up his navy overcoat and headed to the door.  
From the corner of his eye he saw John glance up, startled.  
But he had to get out. He had to go.  
"Paul??!!" he heard John's voice yell, but he never turned around.

"Any idea at all, John?"  
The probation officer's voice was calm.  
"None. He just .. went."  
"What state of mind was he in?"  
That had been bound to be the next question.  
John had to be truthful. "Not good. We, er .. we had a bit of a falling out. Stupid, really. About nothing.."  
John could feel Stu's eyes on him. He pulled an apologetic face at him. He shouldn't really describe Stu as nothing.  
"Okay. The tag team will be on to it. You stay put in case he comes back. I'll let you know as soon as we've found him."

Paul bought himself a cup of tea and found himself a seat in the corner of the cafe, against the steamed up window, from where he could watch the comings and goings of people. He liked doing that. It made him forget about himself. Imagining their lives instead. Normal lives. The secretary out for lunch, checking her mobile phone. The two workmen with their dungarees on and baseball caps, clothes covered in plaster, devouring sausage baps. The anxious mother trying to feed a baby and keep a toddler occupied.  
Someone took a seat on the opposite side of the table to Paul.  
"Are you hungry? You've got tea, I see."  
Paul looked up to meet Steve's eyes. The probation officer had a calming effect. He always did. His smile was warm as he asked the question again.  
"Are you hungry? Have you eaten?"  
As if reminded Paul's stomach growled with a hunger pang. He looked wordlessly at his probation officer.  
"I'll get us a sandwich. Don't go away. Just stay here."  
Paul had no intention of going away. Steve trusted him to stay. Stay he would.  
Next moment a cheese and tomato cob was placed in front of him. Steve gave it a little push. "Eat. Go on, Paul, you must be famished."  
Not wanting to disappoint, Paul took a bite. Then realised just how hungry he was. He devoured the whole lot in the space of a minute.  
Steve leaned back, relieved.  
"Where were you going, Paul?"  
Going? Paul frowned at him.  
Steve saw the confusion. He changed the question.  
"Where would you like to go? Can I give you a lift?"  
Fresh in Steve's mind was the episode with Paul at Christmas. Since then the young man had seemed to be fine.  
"I'm going to George's."  
Paul's reply was definite. Steve raised an eyebrow.   
"George's? Oh, right. And is he in? Is he expecting you?"  
Paul licked his lips nervously. He didn't know.  
"Does John know you're going there?"  
Paul chewed his thumbnail.  
Dark thoughts.   
Stu had arrived.  
John liked Stu.  
"Don't you think John might be worried? If you don't go back?"  
Paul's eyes swivelled to stare out of the window. Steve noted the glaze that had appeared. An absence was always linked to stress.  
"So .. has something happened between you and John? Have you had a falling out?"  
"I'm doing a concert."  
Steve frowned, bemused, then quickly tried to follow Paul's train of thought. "A concert? That's nice. When?"  
Paul had the feeling he was being humoured. He looked intently at Steve. "Next Sunday. Two o' clock. At the Care Home. You can come if you want."  
Realisation dawned. "Oh! Well, that's .. incredible, Paul. Tell me all about it."  
Paul began, hesitantly at first, then relaxed as he explained how it had come about. Steve watched as well as listened to him, and was relieved to note the return of normality in Paul's eyes. Having confirmed that he would definitely attend, Steve tried to get Paul back to the issue at hand. He thought Paul might have forgotten about his idea to go to George's. No such luck. He was digging his heels in there.  
Steve tried to reason with him.  
"The trouble is, Paul, that George works in an evening. You'd be there on your own."  
Paul shrugged nonchalantly. "Doesn't matter. I used to live there anyway. I was used to it."  
"What's wrong with going back to John?"  
Paul tightened his lips and looked back out of the window.  
Steve sighed. "It's not good for you to be on your own."  
He felt the flash of Paul's eyes. "Why?"  
Why? Why because you've attempted suicide at least three times, Steve thought to himself. Three times that we know of. Maybe more.  
Searching for a suitable reply, Steve hesitated.  
"You don't trust me." Paul's tone was accusatory.  
Steve was aware of a few heads turning to look in their direction and .. fuck! .. out of the window he could see a traffic warden about to ticket his car.   
He had to get Paul out of here. "It's not a case of not trusting you, Paul .. it's a case of doing what is right for you."  
"I can look after myself. I'm not a kid."  
Steve signalled for Paul to keep his voice down. "Ssh .. yes, I know you're not. But you are my responsibility to keep safe until we think you are able to .. cope with everyday life."  
Paul looked wide-eyed at Steve. "What the fuck d'you think I'm gonna do? Top myself?"  
Steve momentarily closed his eyes. He opened them again to see Paul glaring at him.  
"I have to make decisions based on what I think is best for you, Paul, and I do not .."  
"Fuck!!" Paul stood up swiftly from the table, sending crockery flying.  
Customers were glancing their way, curious, annoyed at the disturbance.  
"Come on. Come on, son, time to leave here before we get thrown out, I think."  
Steve bundled a protesting Paul through the door .. into the rain. Why oh why cursed Steve did it always rain in Liverpool?  
Paul was twisting and turning under his hold like an eel, there was a parking ticket on his car, and the rain was teeming down.  
Steve struggled to open the car without letting go of Paul, and having pushed him into the back seat he then made sure the doors were locked.   
Glancing into the rear view mirror he saw Paul flop back despondently against the seat, his hair dripping wet.  
Steve sighed and started the engine. "Let's get you home, shall we? Do you have a key?"  
Paul nodded, suddenly tired.  
Home.

"I really appreciate it. Everything. Y'know, stayin' here with him like that, an' all."  
Steve smiled at John.  
"All in a day's work. I didn't .. well, I wouldn't .. leave him on his own. Not when he's in a state like that. Too risky."  
"All the same .. thanks, y'know." John ran a hand over his face. Steve looked at him from beneath his lashes. The poor guy appeared exhausted.  
"Have a tiff, did you?" Steve enquired pleasantly, jokingly almost, hoping he'd get to the root of the problem.  
The problem that was Paul, they'd dubbed it.   
John shrugged. "Stupid, really. Paul was out doing a rehearsal ..."  
The penny dropped with Steve. "Oh aye, the concert?"  
John nodded "Yeah. The concert. He's full of it at the moment. And I went out for a drink with an old friend. Hadn't told Paul, and he ..." John stopped, scratched his nose, unsure how to put it "..he took it the wrong way. For some reason he ..er.. seems to think I've got something going on with this guy."  
Steve's ears pricked up. "Ah ... a touch of the green eyed monster, eh?"  
John shook his head, smiling. "Yeah. Exactly. I hadn't told him I was going for a drink with Stu 'cos I knew he'd throw a fit. Beginning to think I should have just told him 'cos it looks worse not telling." John rubbed his nose again, and winced. "Sorry. Complicated."  
Steve nodded understandingly. "It's okay John. I get it. You can't do right for doing wrong. Doubly difficult in Paul's case. Obviously I don't know him as well as you but my hunch is he questions everything ... second guesses, yeah? I expect there's a lot of pressure on you most of the time in this relationship. Are you coping?"  
John's eyes opened wide. No one had ever asked him how HE was coping. It was always Paul.  
John stuttered a reply. He'd never thought about it before. "I ..er, yeah ... I think I am. No one gave me an instruction manual for him, y'know, but .. we get there. We ARE getting there. He's been so much better. And he loves doing the Care Home, y'know. It's just ..." John scratched his nose yet again, pondering. "I'm never sure what'll set Paul off. I try to be a step ahead, but it's impossible. You can't. He's too complicated. If I could anticipate it'd be easier, but .." John shrugged.  
Steve leaned forward and patted John on the arm, startling him. "I think you are doing an excellent job, John. As good as anyone could ... no, better, actually. If it wasn't for you Paul would have had to remain in the detention centre, because the other young man .. George, isn't it ... he wouldn't have been able to handle this scenario in the way you have. His hours of work alone prevent that. And, anyway .. Paul is very attached to you. So, while that brings, I'm sure, it's own pleasures, it also brings it's own problems.  
I expect we need to regard Paul as a somewhat special case and realise that we do have to be prepared for any eventuality. It would seem to me that he struggles with a feeling of insecurity. If we can help him feel more secure I think a lot of these difficulties will disappear."  
John listened carefully. He hadn't thought about some of the points Steve had raised before. It made John feel good about himself. Reassured.  
Suddenly the future didn't seem so bleak.  
John nodded. "Insecure .. yeah. Yeah, I guess he is. He worries about things. He's a real stress ball."  
Steve smiled comfortingly. "He probably won't always be .. or at least, not that bad. Not as bad as he is now. He's been very damaged by events, and they've taken their toll, but I'm sure he'll improve. He's lucky he has you .. even if you find him hard work at times."  
Damaged. The word resonated with John. He'd never thought about it before but .. yeah ... it made sense.  
Paul. His Paul. Damaged goods. Beautiful but flawed.   
John shook his head. "No" he said softly "I think that works both ways .. I'm lucky to have him."  
"Good" Steve nodded "That's good. And now, if you'll excuse me, I need to report in and get home. The department will wonder where I am and so will my wife and on top of that I have a parking ticket to contend with."  
John's eyes widened. "Oh no! Really?"  
Steve shook his head. "Yup. They slapped it on me while I was inside the cafe with Paul."  
"You won't have to pay, will you? Or will you?"  
"Nah ... if I'd been in a squad car they wouldn't have done that. No, I won't have to pay. It's just the hassle, though ... just another job to do. Anyway ... I'll be off now. All the best, and look after him. Any worries, you know where I am. I'm there for you too, you know. Anytime."  
Steve stood up, extending his hand out to John. He gave a twisted smile.  
"I have to say, John, over the fifteen years I've been doing this job I've seen quite a few characters, but Paul is definitely a different ball game. I reckon he keeps all of us on our toes."

After John had waved Steve off he hesitated for a moment at the door of the little sitting room where he knew Ritchie had been keeping Paul occupied.  
He drew a breath, mentally preparing himself. Trying to look normal. Trying to act normal. As if everything was alright. He felt helpless. It was all very well Steve saying he was doing a great job but when faced with the reality of Paul in a black mood he didn't know what to do. He patted his jeans pockets, ran his fingers through his hair, took another deep breath and opened the door, smile plastered on his face.  
He was aware of both Ritchie and Paul glancing up, but it was Paul he was most conscious of.   
Their eyes met briefly, then Paul dropped the contact, colouring slightly.  
"John!" Ritchie boomed, far louder than necessary in an attempt at joviality. "Come to join us in a game?" He waved the playing cards in the air. "At the moment I'm winning."  
"Ritch, you always win at cards" John deadpanned, his eyes flickering over Paul, who had curled up into the chair, head down bent.  
"Well, why don't you take over then and see if you can keep it up. I'll go and put the kettle on. Actually..." Ritchie's eyes checked the clock on the mantelpiece " .. It's after six so I might start the tea? Anyone hungry yet?"  
Ritchie was blabbing to ease the silence. Paul had curled up even smaller, face hidden as he chewed his nails. And john's concentration was on Paul. Understandably.  
"Hmm?" John nodded at Ritchie, appreciating his help. "Yeah, sure. Tea. And tea. I'm famished. Didn't get any lunch..." John saw Paul shift uncomfortably and could have kicked himself. He hadn't meant it to sound like it was Paul's fault, even if it was. "What we gonna have then, Ritch?"  
Ritchie's gaze was swinging between Paul and John, assessing. "Er..I dunno. Shall I see what's in? Anything you fancy Paul?"  
There was an infinitesimal shrug of a shoulder, and Paul seemed to curl even more into himself.  
Ritchie glanced sympathetically at John."I'll .. er .. just leave you two to have a game, then, shall I?"  
John smiled reassuringly at him as he was handed the playing cards. He slipped into Ritchie's vacated seat opposite Paul, and began shuffling the pack. "What were you playing, then?" he enquired casually, not really expecting a reply.  
"Gin rummy" the response was quiet but there. Hope flared within John.  
"Ah, right. I'm not very good at that. Are you?"  
There was a shake of a dark head, but Paul was still studying the carpet and John couldn't see his face.  
John shuffled the pack a little more briskly. "Well, I guess.."  
"I'm not very good at cards."  
John paused, and looked across at the curled up figure intently.  
"It doesn't .."  
"I'm not very good at anything." The words were whispered but clear.  
John was terse. "Paul, stop it. You ARE good at things. And you're a fucking awesome musician. You must know that."  
Slim shoulders shrugged again, and Paul's gaze switched to the blank television screen.  
John put the cards down on the table. "So what are you NOT good at then?"  
He was warning himself not to be too brusque, but he did need to snap Paul out of this.  
"Apart from cooking" John added jokingly, hoping against hope Paul would pick up the jest. He didn't.  
John shuffled the cards, giving his hands something to do while he thought rapidly how to handle this situation.  
Even as he watched, Paul drew his legs up to his chest and buried his head between his knees, sealing the ensemble with linked arms.  
Christ ... he wished George was there.  
John began dealing the cards. Why he had no idea. As he did he started chatting. Insignificant dialogue that didn't require an answer. About the customers he'd seen that day. About Paul's pupils who, he said, had been understanding. He glanced over at Paul but there was no sign he'd heard. John knew he would have though. He told Paul he'd informed them that the lessons would be made up as soon as Paul was back.  
In the kitchen he could hear the clatter of saucepans and Ritchie whistling off key.  
He tapped a forefinger on one of the cards. Steve had mentioned medication. It had been a road they were not keen on going down with Paul. If he could improve without the assistance of chemicals it would be much better, it had been deemed. Looking at him now John began to wonder.   
Ritchie popped his head round the door, taking in the silent scene. "Not a lot in ... I'm making a veggie stir fry. Got a few bits to use up. That okay?"  
John nodded with a faint smile. "Sounds good, Ritch."  
"Ready in about twenty minutes. Fancy a beer?"  
John's smile grew. "Sounds even better."  
Ritchie glanced anxiously at Paul's tight huddle, and he raised a quizzical eyebrow at John.  
"Paul, want a beer?"  
No reply. John shook his head. "I'll have one. Just keep one chilled for Paul, yeah?"  
The kitchen door closed again.  
John heaved a sigh and put all the cards down, and went to kneel next to the chair Paul was perched on.   
He was in such a tight huddle it was difficult to access him.   
John ran a hand down the curved spine and felt Paul shiver. He could almost feel the black tendrils spiralling around the curled form.  
"You're not hopeless, you know."  
A hand twitched.  
"In fact you are one of the most talented people I know."  
John spoke quietly into the shell of Paul's ear, the dark hairs stirring in his breath.  
"And you're good at lots of things. So many I wouldn't even know where to start."  
John's fingers traced patterns on Paul's back. "Like ... organising things. I can't do that. Rob couldn't either. But you could. Look how you sorted the accounts for the shop, hmmm? And no one gave you any training. And teaching? Look at the pupils you've got .. and loads more waiting. Everyone wants you for their teacher. And running a choir? How the hell did you know how to do that? But more than that the fun those old geezers have had. That's such a talent, Paul. I couldn't do that. I don't know anyone that could. So don't give me shit about not being good at anything. Ey, look at me. Come on, stop hiding away. I want to see that gorgeous face of yours. Please, Paul ..." John's final words were whispered "I hate it when you get like this. I don't know what to do."  
There was a moment's silence then Paul raised his head from behind his knees, peering at John.  
John gave him a wobbly smile.  
"What's this all about, eh?"  
Paul's eyes scanned John's face intently, studying him. John watched him lick his lips, considering. Anxious.  
"Do you like Stu?"  
John was gobsmacked. Of all the questions. Then he realised, almost immediately, where it was leading.  
He nodded. "Yes, Paul, I do. I always have. From the first time we met." He watched Paul absorb the information, his eyes never leaving John's.  
"But I don't LOVE him ... at least, not like that. Like I do you. Can you understand that?"  
God, he hoped Paul could because his knees were beginning to ache, kneeling on the floor like this.  
But he had to deal with this anxiety of Paul's. Had to bring this into the open.  
"Why did you lie to me?"  
John heaved a sigh. This was the crux of the matter, wasn't it. His fault.  
"Because, Paul .. and you've got to believe me on this .. I thought if you knew I was going for a drink with Stu you'd get upset. Annoyed at me. For some reason .. and I'm not asking you why .. you don't seem to like him. So I didn't tell you. It was wrong, I see that now. And I didn't mean to upset you, and I have, and I'm sorry."  
There was a moment's silence, then "You're not fed up of me?"  
The question was simply asked. John looked in astonishment at Paul. He traced his thumb down the side of Paul's rounded cheek.  
"You said this to me once before, remember? Do you remember?"  
Paul looked at him wide eyed, and John realised with a lurch that it was very likely Paul DIDN'T remember. Therefore, these insecurities were always going to be there.  
That doubt in Paul's mind that he was ever good enough. He was going to require continual reassurance.  
Paul blinked, unsure, and John leaned forward and gave him a gentle kiss on the lips.  
"My answer then, Paul, is the same as it is now .. I will never, NEVER get fed up of you."


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The concert

The next morning Paul was fine.

John was perplexed. And confused. And befuddled.  
Did Paul not recall the previous day?  
What did he do with these memories? Stash them away somewhere? Pretend it had never happened?  
Or did he genuinely forget?

But he couldn't, could he, John thought, watching Paul flick through his list of pupils for that evening.  
There had been a note John had left on top of Paul's folder regarding the pupils who'd not had a lesson the previous day. The ones Paul needed to make up.  
John could see Paul going through his diary trying to relocate them a space.  
So he knew.  
He must.

Ritchie looked at him from concerned blue eyes, as if he was upset that he didn't have the answer for John.  
He shrugged. "I dunno, John."

John felt he ought to know. That it would be an insight into how Paul's mind worked.  
And that could be a scary thing.

He asked Steve ... confidentially, of course.  
Steve's reply was the same as Ritchie's .. if a little more substantial.  
A mystery, Steve deemed it. Paul's coping mechanism. 

"But he must know" John would wail to any one who would listen.  
Watching his boyfriend through a normal day's work John was desperate to ask.  
But he didn't want to put Paul on the spot. Ask him to quantify how he coped. How he handled it.  
He had a feeling Paul's head was probably stacked full of incidents he hadn't forgotten but didn't want to remember.  
"Ask George" said Ritchie.  
John sighed. That was the first sensible response any one had given him.

Sunday dawned bright and clear. Everything anyone could have wanted. A typical spring morning in mid March, the daffodils a splash of yellow in the park, white and grey clouds scudding across the sky, patches of blue being revealed and hidden again, the trees blowing in a fresh breeze that carried upon it's wings the smell of the earth renewing itself.  
John found he was whistling merrily, and stopped, surprised. He never whistled. What was more, he was whistling some oldie. A proper oldie. Some tune from the forties. He blamed it on Paul. Paul who was getting ready, looking devilishly handsome in a white shirt and black trousers with a brightly patterned tie of green and blue ... wasn't that the tie they'd used to tie their ankles together only a few nights ago? John shrugged. Possibly.  
He caught Paul's eye, and a dimpled smile appeared.  
John indicated the tie. "Er .. didn't we?.."  
Paul nodded, his smile growing.  
Next moment he had the young man in his arms. How had that happened eh?  
"Are you nervous?"  
Paul gave a little nod.  
John gave him a squeeze. "You'll be awesome."

There was such a buzz of excitement at the care home. John and Paul had arrived early as Paul wanted to make sure he had his music all in order .. not that he hadn't checked that fact twenty times before ... but already visitors were arriving too. Sons and daughters, grandchildren, friends. Watching from behind scenes John saw Steve arrive with what was obviously his wife and family, looking slightly out of place but nonetheless beaming and nodding at everyone. He saw Ritchie and Lottie take a seat at the back, and then another figure arrived. Long hair tied back in a pony tail, brightly coloured clothes, a smile that encompassed the whole world. George. John's heart gave a little jump. How wonderful for Paul that his oldest friend had turned out to see him.  
The chattering reached a crescendo. John's nose caught the whiff of various perfumes and the smell of cucumber sandwiches being placed on tables at the back, along with cakes, ready for an after concert party.   
John could see Paul having a final word with his choir, who were all listening intently, as if they were about to perform a marathon. A warm glow spread through John.  
Paul had done all this on his own. His Paul. Brought so much joy to these old folks. John was so proud of him. Stick that in your pipe and smoke it, Luke Stanton, John thought.

And then the matron was coming out, standing in the space that would soon be filled with the choir, and the audience quieted down, a few who were still standing finding seats quickly.  
Beaming at everyone she gave a brief introduction, and then the choir were filing out and taking their positions, dressed in their Sunday best, a couple of the men actually sporting brightly coloured bow ties. Then Paul slipped into his place on the piano seat, and his fingers teased out the opening chords of 'A nightingale sang in Berkeley Square' and John was lost. The voices might be old but they were true; perfectly balanced harmonies that caused goose bumps to rise. The audience fell under the same spell as John, and they were transported to another time, another place. From one classic to another Paul led them without faltering, his fingers never missing a note.   
John's eyes were glued to Paul. He was truly in awe of him at that moment, seeing a side of his boyfriend he'd known about but never envisaged before.  
"He's very good" a voice whispered quietly in his ear, and John turned, startled, to see the matron standing next to him, her round button eyes smiling and knowing.  
John was too choked up to reply. He could only nod.  
"You are ...." there was a slight pause, then the matron continued "together, aren't you?" She phrased it delicately.  
John nodded again. The great Lennon, wordless.  
She leaned conspiratorially nearer to John. "He's done wonders for these old people. I was hoping that, when his sentence is complete, I could buy him in professionally for one afternoon a week to continue doing musical activities with them. Do you think he'd be up for that?" She looked inquisitively at John.  
John cleared his throat, his cheeks rosy. "I think he'd love it."  
She nodded. "Good. That's good. He's a treasure. Look after him. If you don't I can think of quite a few ladies here who would pack him into their wardrobes given half a chance."  
She chuckled, and moved away.

The choir finished with 'Chatanooga Choo Choo' that John had heard Paul practising endlessly over the last few weeks, then the audience were on their feet, cheering and clapping. John could see Ritchie and Lottie applauding madly, and George waving his long gangly arms in the air. Children watching their parents and grandparents reaction joined in enthusiastically, stamping their feet. For a moment the whole place was riotous.  
Then the matron raised her arms, and everyone quieted down. She gave a very brief speech on how hard the choir had worked and finally, turning to one side, she indicated Paul, still sitting at the piano, explaining how, without their musical maestro, none of this would have taken place. Paul blushed, as John knew he would, then went even redder when presented with a bouquet of flowers from one of the elderly ladies. An extra round of applause ensued, and then people were leaving their seats, milling in family groups, getting cups of tea and cakes and sandwiches.  
John found Paul in the middle of an admiring circle, not least his probation officer.   
Steve was shaking his head, saying "Amazing, Paul, bloody amazing" over and over again.   
And George was pumping Paul's hand and hugging him, telling anyone that would listen how talented his friend was.  
There seemed to be a queue of elderly ladies too, all wanting to introduce Paul to their families.   
A nudge in John's ribs, and the matron was there, eyes twinkling, indicating them.  
"I told you" she chuckled.

Clutching a cup of tea, John found himself next to George. Even if his eyes had been shut he would have known it was George by the smell of spices.  
They exchanged broad grins.  
"Didn't he do well?" George said.  
John nodded, finding he was still too choked emotionally.  
"So proud of him" he stuttered, alarmingly near tears.  
George continued to smile, fully understanding.  
"How's he been?"  
John raised perturbed eyes to George. "This is Paul we're talking about, yeah?"  
George inclined his head.  
"As confusing as ever."  
An empathetic emotion touched George's face.  
"Would you like to share?"  
Christ!! How had George known to ask that.  
John nodded vehemently. "Certainly would. But not here. Not now."  
He could see Paul heading through the crowd towards him.  
George leaned in and whispered "Text me. When you can be on your own."

Paul leaned back on John's chest, his legs reclining off the end of the settee. A cup of tea sat cooling on the coffee table, and beneath him Paul could feel the steady rise and fall of John's breathing. He was content. The concert had gone so well. So much better than he'd thought it would. His mind kept playing scenarios from that afternoon over and over again, interspersed with the congratulations he'd received. He hummed contentedly under his breath and slid lower down on John's body. John regarded him fondly, staring down at the top of Paul's dark head.  
"You are amazing, y'know" John whispered quietly.  
Paul stopped humming, and tried to turn to look at John, almost falling off in the process. John caught his arm, and Paul twisted round, looking tired but flushed.  
He also looked content. That was the one thing that really hit John. Paul looked content. Complete. Satiated. He gently poked Paul's nose.  
"Happy?"  
Paul had started humming again ... God knows what ... and nodded.  
John fondled his hair, messing it up. "Good" he murmured. "That's good."

"An excuse?" Ritchie looked puzzled.  
"Yeah. An excuse. To go and see George without Paul tagging along. Think!! Come on, Ritch .. there's gotta be summat."  
Ritchie frowned. "But we're a bit limited, though ... I mean, when you're off George is at work an' vise versa..."  
"... yeah, yeah, yeah, I know that" John was impatient.  
Any minute Paul might walk in the room.   
Then the conversation would have to stop. Again.  
"Think!" John urged.  
"Well .. maybe ... maybe I could take Paul out on Sunday..."  
John frowned. "How? How you gonna do that?"  
Ritchie's frown deepened. "I dunno, I'm thinking."  
"Shit .. he's comin'..."  
The conversation halted, and John and Ritchie turned as one to meet the instantly suspicious face of Paul when he opened the kitchen door.  
"What y' doin'? Holding a conference?"  
Ritchie stuttered and John blushed and Paul's eyes narrowed even more.  
"Paul, I .. er ... I need to take you for another fitting .. for the morning suit .. they say they've lost the measurements .."  
The lie came out of nowhere, falling from Ritchie's lips, and both Paul and John looked at him in astonishment.  
"But .. they've already done it" Paul frowned.  
"Er, yeah, but .. they, y'know, just wanna be sure."  
John was gobsmacked. "I didn't know they were open on a Sunday morning."  
Ritchie glared at him. So much for helping. "They're not. They're gonna open specially."  
John winced. Ooh shit. This was a big one to pull off. Getting a shop to open specially.  
He got the feeling Ritchie hadn't thought this through.  
And Paul was standing there surveying them both from suspicious eyes.  
"Is there something going on?" he asked. "Something you don't want me to know about?"  
"No .. no"  
"Oh no, nothing, no .."  
Two voices chimed together.  
Paul bit his lip.  
It wasn't to do with that Stu was it?   
"So .. is that okay?"  
Paul hesitated, studying Ritchie carefully before replying "Well, yeah, I guess so. Is John coming?"  
Agh!!! Shit. Fuck. Shit. Ritchie looked wordlessly at John.  
John couldn't meet his eyes.  
Look what happened last time he'd lied.  
John shrugged. And sighed.  
And wished life wasn't so complicated.  
"I, erm .. erm .. erm .."  
Ritchie was watching John flounder open mouthed, as if willing him to come up with something.  
Paul was becoming even more suspicious.  
Fuck it, John thought. Just say it. Alright?  
"Actually, I thought I'd go and visit George. We didn't get much time to chat the other day."  
There. Now that wasn't a lie. It was the truth.  
Ritchie breathed a sigh of relief.  
Paul looked at him wide eyed. "Visit George?"  
John nodded vehemently. "Yeah, visit George."  
"But .. but why? I mean .. he's my friend .." Paul finished lamely.  
"And do you have a monopoly on him?"  
Oooh. Paul took a step back, his eyes widening even more. He shook his head, bewildered.  
John beamed and rubbed his hands together. "Good, that's settled then. You can take Paul to have his measurements checked an' I'll just nip and see George."

"How the fuck are you gonna pull that off?" John asked.  
Ritchie wiggled his eyebrows. "Trust me, I will. I know the son of the shop owner. He'll do it for me. I'll tell him we need Paul out the way for a bit. It won't take long. I'll promise him first dibs on hip replacement operation list."  
John grinned. "You're brill, y'know."  
Ritchie grinned back. "I know."

It had been quite a few months since John had been to George's flat. The overwhelming smell of spices brought back lots of memories for John, some good, some bad. And a lot of uncertainty. He'd shared here for a while with Paul, both of them crammed onto a camp bed in what was little more than a store room. While George made coffee John looked around. The room hadn't changed. Still pictures of India on the wall. Still a colourful clutter of throws and cushions. Still a fussy cat perched contentedly on John's knee. This tiny flat, crammed with love and warmth, had been Paul's refuge for over a year. Without it, and George's concern, Paul would probably not have survived. John owed him a lot.

George passed a mug to John and perched himself on the arm of the settee, waiting. He knew there would be a reason. And he knew John would raise it in his own time.  
John sipped the coffee, and another flood of memories came back. What was that flavour? Cinnamon? Allspice? Definitely something.  
John fussed the cat round the ears, sighed, and leaned back into the cushions.  
"I'm gonna have a cat" he told George "When me and Paul move into the flat."  
George nodded. "They're relaxing. Every home should have one."  
John peeped at George. "Paul wants a dog."  
George's grin grew. "He's always wanted one. Even when we were kids."  
'When we were kids'. That shared history. John would have loved to have seen Paul as a boy. Bet he was cute.  
George waited. He was used to waiting. He had endless patience.  
"George?"  
"Hmm?"  
John spun the mug in his hands, unsure how to ask.  
"When Paul .. when he .. " John sighed, and tried again. "Y'know ... when things go wrong, what does he do with the memories?"  
George frowned, trying to unravel John's complicated question.  
"You mean if he has a bit of a crisis?"  
John nodded. Crisis. Yeah, you could call it that, he supposed. He nodded.  
"Yeah. Like the other day. He went into melt down over me having gone for a drink with Stu. Ran out of the shop. Steve found him. Well, the tag team did. Finally got him to talk to me an' he was all screwed up, y'know how he gets, an' then .. the next morning, he's fine. Right as rain. Didn't even mention it. But I know .. I mean, I realise he MUST know, because he had to re-schedule some pupils, so it's not as if he's forgotten. He can't have, 'cos it's all there in front of him. The lessons he didn't do an' ... and other things. But he never mentioned it. I know he's fitted his pupils in on different days, so ... so .. he must KNOW .. y'know, that .. that summat happened, like. But he's never said. Not said owt." John looked appealingly at George. "What does he DO with those memories? I just want to know."  
George smiled comfortingly, his dark eyes wise and sympathetic.  
"Why do you want to know?"  
John was taken aback. Why did he? WHY did he?  
"Because .. because .. I .. I dunno. If I'm honest, I dunno. I just want to understand him better."  
George gave a wry smile. "Have you thought maybe Paul doesn't even know himself?"  
John searched the depths of his mug, as if it would give him all the answers.  
"I don't understand him ... how he works. I've tried to. God knows I've tried to, George, but ... he's complicated. I can't suss him out. One day I think I've got him, then the next a different pattern emerges. I wish I knew how to handle him."  
"I don't think Paul is complicated." The words were definite, and John looked up, a spark of hope in his chest. George nodded at him. "He's always the same person. With the same hang-ups. What you are seeing are different sides of him. But it's all him. It's all still Paul."  
John put the mug down on the crowded coffee table. "Explain." He paused, then added "Please."  
George nodded. "Paul can't handle problems. He doesn't know how to. If a situation arises he can't cope with, he runs away. Either mentally or physically, or both together."  
John absorbed that information quietly. Yes, that he could follow.  
"I think, too, he's had a lot of trauma in his life. Circumstances and things going on that were not under his control. And I think the only way he could handle it was by switching off mentally from what was going on around him. And possibly happening to him."  
The cat rolled over on John's lap and John absent mindedly rubbed his tummy, listening to the flow of George's words.  
"You ask does he remember. I don't think he remembers everything. If it's been a big issue, I do truly think Paul's mind just blocks it out. So there probably are things he can't genuinely recall. Other issues ... well, I think he files them away. Knows something has happened, considers it, but doesn't get involved. Regards it as separate, and pops it in a box in his head and ignores it. Hopes it'll go away." George smiled broadly. "He does that a lot. Or did. Don't think he's forgotten. He's just refusing to acknowledge, that's all."  
"When he lived here, was he like that with you?"  
George's eyes shadowed. "When Paul was here he wasn't in a good place mentally. He was suffering from depression, and I had to keep dragging him out of it. He didn't want to talk about what had gone on, and I had to respect that. Like I said before, it was weeks before he really spoke to me. Even later, much later, just before you two met, he was still very introverted. He had a fucking rubbish job at a local Chinese supermarket loading shelves, and the reason he did it, apart from the money, was that the only person who ever spoke to him was the manager. No one else spoke English, so he didn't have to socialise. It suited him down to the ground then. He was very withdrawn. Didn't communicate much with me either, to be truthful. You were the catalyst for him starting to emerge. You probably don't know that, but you were. "  
John looked with surprise at George. "No I never knew."  
George smiled. "Well, it was gradual. I think Ritchie started it. He took that initial interest in Paul. The fact that someone else, not just me, showed an interest in his welfare made Paul look again at himself. And then you came on the scene. It might have been a rocky start, but I saw a difference in Paul. I could tell he was attracted to you, even if he said you were a prick."  
John's mouth fell open. "He said what?"  
George grinned. "He was pissed off with you at the time. Never told me why. But a few days later you seemed to become an item, so ..."  
John put his empty mug down on the coffee table, unwittingly disturbing the cat, who leapt off his lap and strode disdainfully into the kitchen, his tail in the air.  
"So, what I'm saying is ... he's improving, John. Whatever you feel, and I guess it seems slow progress, he is improving. If you're asking me is he ever going to be normal, I don't know. But then .. what is normal? We all have our hang-ups, Paul more than most. But if you can cope with that then you'll be fine. If I think back to a couple of years ago then Paul is hardly recognisable as the same person. And most of that is down to you."  
John felt a warm glow in the pit of his stomach. Maybe he was so caught up in the day to day problems he'd not looked at the big picture.  
"He did well last Sunday .. that concert." George murmured.  
John nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, he did."  
"So ... focus on those things. On the successes. Don't get hung up on the problems. Paul copes with things in his own way. Maybe not how you would, or I would, but in his way ... a bit off beat, somewhat quirky, but he does it."  
"Do you think he ought to take medication for depression?" John blurted out the question, and George shifted, surprised.  
This was the first he'd heard. He raised quizzical eyebrows.  
"It was the doctor who examined him when he was taken into detention. He mentioned it. I think it was considered, but then they changed their mind, but it's always remained as an option. The suggestion is down on his file" explained John.  
George sucked air in through his teeth in a low whistle, mulling over the question.  
"The trouble is, some of those drugs can be quite addictive, can't they. I would think, if he can pull through without, it would be better."  
"Yeah, that was the decision they reached. It's just, sometimes, y'know ...I dunno if it would help." John fiddled with his fingers, eyes downcast, and George watched him.  
"I'm not a doctor, John, but my gut reaction would be no. It might just add to the problems, not take away."  
John nodded. "Yeah" he said quietly "Yeah, possibly."  
After a few minutes silence, George switched the subject.  
"Are you looking forward to getting the flat together? It's an exciting prospect, isn't it."  
John nodded. "It certainly is. If I'm honest, though, I'm a bit jittery about it but I wouldn't tell Paul that."  
George quirked an eyebrow. "Why's that, then?"  
"Well, so far, me an' Paul have always had other people around us. It helps, y'know. Well, I think it does. If he's ever had a crisis " John stole George's description " it's been useful having Ritchie on hand. To think that I'm gonna be responsible for him is a bit ...." John quivered his hand in the air.  
"Shaky?"  
John grinned. "Yeah."  
"You'll cope, John."  
George sounded so sure. So certain.  
John wished he could condense George, wrap him up, distil him, keep him in a bottle, in a pocket. He was so reassuring to have around.  
"Mmm. Just a bit. At the same time I'm looking forward to it. Not being under Ritchie's feet, an' that. He'll be married by then. By the time we move out. Scary thought."  
"Isn't it just. It'll be a great day, I'm sure."  
Reaching into his pocket for a tissue John's fingers touched a piece of paper. It felt smooth and slightly wrinkled. Without looking he knew what it was. He withdrew it and passed it over to George without a word. Puzzled, George smoothed the paper out and read the words written on it, then looked at John for explanation.  
"He came into the shop one day ... not long after Paul had started there."  
George mouthed a silent 'oh'.  
John shrugged. "Fucking embarrassing. For him, for me, for Paul. I found that note through the door a few days later. Never showed Paul. He doesn't know."  
John looked up at George, seeing the question in his eyes. John licked his lips.  
"You're gonna ask me why I kept it. Aren't you?"  
George never spoke, just kept his dark eyes fixed on John.  
John studied his fingernails intently as he sought for the words he needed.  
The words that came out mumbled. "I guess you'll think it's wrong, but, I thought ... if I ever needed to talk to someone who was there. Who knew what happened. If it ever came to that."  
John knew George was still watching him.  
George had a way of making you question your motives without ever saying anything. It was unnerving.  
John folded Mark's letter up and pushed it back in his jacket pocket.  
"It's just .. just insurance, George, that's all. Just insurance."

Ritchie gave John a mug of tea and a cheese and tomato bap, and John flopped down next to Paul on the settee, who was eyeing him curiously from beneath his lashes.  
"So ... how did the re-measuring go?" he asked no one in particular.  
Ritchie waved a hand in the air. "Oh, fine. Just fine."  
John glanced at Paul next to him. "Okay?"  
Paul blushed and nodded.  
John frowned. "You sure?"  
Paul chewed his lip.  
"He's not put any weight on so everything still fits," Ritchie joked.  
John poked Paul in the ribs. "Getting a bit pudgy round here, I thought."  
Paul squirmed. Something was bothering him. John waited. He had a sip of tea. And waited. Slowly chewed his bap, sucking up the tomato pips noisily. And waited.  
Paul chewed his thumbnail. John couldn't see his face because of the veil of dark hair that had fallen. The guy seriously needed a haircut.  
"George sends his love, by the way."  
Paul glanced up, wide eyed. Lips parted. Looking very fuckable.  
"What ... what did you talk about?" The question was nervously asked.  
Ah hah. This was it then. "You" said John.  
Paul's eyes opened even more. "Me? But .. what about me?"  
"We talked about you, and Ritchie, an' Lottie, an' the concert, an' the cat, and about you wanting a dog ..." as John progressed he could see relief spreading across Paul's face.  
".. the wedding, how fat you're getting ..."  
Paul nudged John in the ribs, and John poked back.  
"I am not getting fat" Paul huffed.  
"Taking up more than half the bed ..."  
"No I am not" Paul spluttered.  
"What a pain in the neck you are ..."  
"John!"  
"An' how much I love you.."  
Paul stilled. He coloured. He chewed his thumb.  
Next moment he was in John's arms.


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John meets with Mark

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't don't don't read this if you think you can't cope. It wasn't an easy chapter to write and I've written it all in one go but it does get to the crux of what happened, even if briefly.  
> Contains mention of sexual abuse.

There was a crushing weight pressing down on his chest.  
He was desperate to draw air into his lungs.   
He gasped, his lungs struggling with the weight that was bearing down on them.   
With an enormous effort he drew in a small amount of air, and could feel the weight of something pushing back down, preventing the lungs from fully functioning.  
In a small, hazy part of his mind, Paul wondered if he was trapped under something.  
Buried. Suffocating.  
Panic took over and he tried again to breathe.   
His breath burnt his lungs as he drew it in, and again that feeling of something on his chest pushing back down, crushing him.  
Had he been in an accident?  
Was he drowning?  
Was that why he couldn't breathe?  
Was that it?   
He was under water and that was why he couldn't breathe.   
He tried to open his eyes, but they were too heavy, each lid weighted down as if with lead.  
Such an effort.  
Oh God, he was going to die if he couldn't breathe.   
He struggled again, tearing his lungs with the effort.  
If he was under water then he wouldn't be able to breathe. So...  
..he must be trapped then.  
If he could move ...   
But his arms felt heavy.  
His legs felt heavy.  
He was on his back, that much he knew.  
This time he could hear his attempt to breathe.  
He heard himself gasp.  
Then a hand fastened round his ankle.  
No, his wrist.   
Both.   
He could feel movement, but he was so sluggish.  
He couldn't respond.  
With one enormous effort he tried again to breathe, panicking.

"Woah, woah, woah" John caught hold of him.  
Paul's eyes were wide and terrified, and he was struggling for breath.  
Never had John shifted so quickly. He'd gone from asleep to wide awake in zero seconds.  
Never had he seen Paul like this before. Was he having a fit?  
"Eh, eh, ssh ... come on ... steady."  
Paul was drawing in gulps of air, his fingers clawing desperately at John for stability.  
John looked at him in concern. The guy couldn't get his breath. It was as if his throat had closed up.  
John dragged him up to a sitting position, holding him under his arms.  
Although Paul's eyes were wide they were filled with panic and couldn't see John.  
"Paul, take deep breaths. Ssh. Steady .. steady, you're okay. I've got you."  
Paul's shoulders heaved and his fingers scrabbled for a purchase on John's arms, digging in, pinching. John winced but didn't dare shake him off.  
He could feel Paul's heart hammering frantically beneath his ribs as he pulled him into a tight hold, murmuring soothing nothings into the dark hair.  
Paul's fingers clenched and unclenched in a rhythmic pattern into John's biceps.  
Slowly, slowly, he managed to catch his breath.  
His full weight landed into John's arms.  
His head fell into the crook of John's neck.  
He let out a wail, and interweaved within it was so much pain and anguish it cut through John like a knife.  
John tightened his hold around the slim body, drew him in, and after one final sob Paul simply surrendered into his arms.  
Holding him, John felt him become heavier and heavier.  
After what seemed a lifetime but in reality was but minutes, John gently relaxed his hold, letting the body slip back down onto the mattress.  
Paul's eyes were tightly shut and his breathing was normal.  
John ran a shaky hand through his hair, his own heart still hammering.  
What the fuck had all that been about?

He tried to explain to Ritchie the next morning, but struggled to.  
He could see Ritchie watching him with concern in his eyes.  
The fact John couldn't explain something was worrying to Ritchie.  
This must have been serious.  
And Paul .. he was quiet. Pale. Totally wrung out.  
Something must have happened, Ritchie surmised.  
After all, Paul had nightmares. They all knew that. They were getting less but still happened.  
John looked at Ritchie, his eyes scared behind his glasses.  
"This wasn't a nightmare, Ritchie" John said "This was more of a fucking flashback."

"It was as if someone was murdering him" John said to George.  
He'd had to see him. He had to try and ask someone. Anyone.  
He didn't ever want to see Paul like that again.  
And it had left a shadow over Paul.  
He was so subdued. For days.  
It was as if there had been a disturbance in muddy waters that had long been untouched.  
Buried memories.

John fingered the note. And considered.  
Should he? Shouldn't he?  
It was going behind Paul's back.  
He watched Paul sorting through the accounts, a pencil stuck behind his ear.  
The incident had happened four days ago.  
Paul was still looking wrecked.

He asked Ritchie. Ritchie hadn't known about the note. His eyes opened wide at the prospect.  
"Would he talk to you?"  
John shrugged. Would he?

It had gone quiet in the music room. John realised with a jolt it had been quiet for a while. Paul was supposed to be working on a piano part for one of his pupils.  
Alerted, John checked on him.  
Paul was sitting at the piano, silent tears streaming down his cheeks.  
John's lips tightened.  
That was it, he'd fucking had enough.

He checked the text over a couple of times before he sent it. After all, he didn't want to frighten the guy off.  
"Hiya Mark, just checking this is your number. This is John. Remember? Retro Records, Dr. Who and Scarves."  
Keep it light. Keep it bouncy.  
He kept checking his phone every few minutes for a response. And on the way home on the bus.  
Paul glanced curiously at him from tired dark eyes, but didn't enquire.  
Six o' clock and still no reply.  
Seven o' clock and still no reply.  
They had a meal. Ritchie put on a film. They half watched it, each bound up in their own thoughts.  
Only Ritchie seemed normal, although his joviality was forced.  
Thank God, sighed John, that he was there. To keep things bouncing along.  
John had almost given up, and Paul had drifted off to sleep between his legs, when John felt the phone vibrate. Carefully, so as not to disturb Paul, he extricated it from his jeans pocket. His heart gave a jump.  
"Hello John, yes this is Mark. Of course I remember you. Is everything alright?"  
John ran his thumb over the front of the phone thoughtfully. Thinking about Mark. Thinking back to the day he'd met him. He hadn't been going out with Paul then. It had been the day he'd met Luke Stanton. If one could only turn back the clock. If he'd known then what he knew now.  
Mark had been a nice guy. At least, he had appeared to be. Even if he hung out with a bunch of wankers.  
Could he trust him? Would he spill the beans?  
Would he even know?  
John glanced down at Paul's slumbering figure, his head nestled on John's chest.  
For the sake of their future, he felt he had to try.

John made arrangements to meet Mark for a drink, partly under the pretext of having some records he might be interested in.  
He chose a pub which he knew, from Mark's headed notepaper, was not too far from where the guy worked in the city centre.  
Give him less chance of changing his mind, John reckoned, if it was fairly convenient.  
How to smooth it over with Paul?  
"I'm going out for a drink."  
Should he just come out with it like that?  
"I'm meeting an old friend."  
Not exactly true. Mark wasn't an old friend, even if they'd got on okay.  
Paul was watching him intently.  
Could this guy read his mind?  
He'd wondered that once before.  
Then again, Paul was very astute.  
Don't let those pretty features fool you.

"Paul, I'm going out for a drink tomorrow night for a bit ... someone I used to know ... and no .." John held his hand up as Paul opened his mouth to speak .." ..before you ask, it's not Stu. No-one you know" Ooh small lie there Lennon " It's someone I know who could be interested in some records. I won't be gone long ..." John barged on swiftly, not giving Paul time to gather his thoughts ".. I'll not be long, honest. If you head home ... you'll be okay doing that won't you?" John looked worriedly at him for a moment, recalling the last time he'd left Paul to take himself home.  
Paul looked dumbly at him and nodded, and John gave him a brief kiss on the nose.  
"Maybe you can get a meal started .. I'll be home before you know it."  
A little frown furrowed Paul's brow. "What's his name?"  
John blinked. "Who?"  
Paul huffed a little sigh. "The guy you're meeting."  
John thought rapidly. He didn't have an alternative ready. "Mark" he said, hoping.  
Paul never blinked. It obviously meant nothing to him.  
Then again, why should it? It was a common enough name.  
Also .. and this worried John far more ... Paul didn't seem to object to the fact John was going out for a drink.  
Leaving him to make his own way home.  
Paul's eyes looked empty.  
That DID worry John.

"Will you be home when he gets here?" John asked Ritchie anxiously.  
Ritchie latched on to John's concern immediately.  
"Yeah, 'course I will" he said.  
Inwardly, Ritchie winced. He'd have to plead his cause with Trevor. Of course Trevor would let him go early. He had a soft spot for Paul.  
Ritchie made a mental note to check with Trevor tomorrow.  
"I don't want him coming home to an empty house" John explained.  
Ritchie nodded. He understood.  
"Don't worry, John. I'll be here. I'll look after him."  
John patted him on the arm gratefully.

John was late arriving at the pub. He'd dallied seeing Paul off, watching him get onto the bus, waving him off, feeling a strange reluctance to let him go.  
He should be okay. After all, all threats should have been removed.  
Oddly enough, the incident from the art exhibition had sprung afresh to John's mind. And he knew Paul was still worrying about it all.  
John caught a bus going in the opposite direction, and leapt off near to Paddy's Wigwam, turning swiftly down one of the side streets, hoping that Mark was there. That he'd waited.  
Breathless, John entered the lounge and scanned the busy room. Six o'clock on a Friday and half of Liverpool had stopped for a drink on their way home.   
Squinting through his glasses, John's hope faded, then leapt again when he spotted a guy waving to him. He wended his way through the crowds and the tables.  
"Mark! Good to see you." John's greeting was jovial and determined.  
Mark rose to his feet, his hand held out. "John. Good to see you again."  
John noticed, though.  
Mark was nervous, a film of sweat beading his upper lip. His eyes were anxious, darting around the room, as if seeking escape routes.  
So despite the firm greeting, the guy was on edge.  
Tread carefully, John warned himself.  
"What can I get you?" John kept it bright. He saw Mark lick his lips nervously.  
"Oh, er ... I'll have .. er .. what are you having?"  
"A pint of Kronenburg. Want the same?"  
Mark nodded.

John placed the drink down in front of Mark, relieved that the guy was still here. That he hadn't done a runner.  
They smiled at each other, waiting.   
John cleared his throat. How to start?  
Mark loosened his collar, pulling his tie apart gently.  
"How's work?" "How's the shop?"  
They both spoke at once, and broke off, chuckling.  
John took a sip of his beer. "Shop's fine. Surprisingly busy, though quite a bit of that business is Paul's pupils."  
Mention him. Get him into the picture. This is why you're here.  
John saw Mark colour slightly, and pick his drink up as a shield to hide behind. "Good. That's good" he stuttered.  
Mark could feel John's eyes boring into him. He shifted, uncomfortable. He was here for a reason. And he had the awful feeling he knew what that reason was.  
It was as if he'd been expecting this to happen. All along.  
Mark geared himself up.  
Then came the words. The ones he'd been expecting.  
"What happened to Paul?"  
Mark blinked stupidly at John.  
Had John just spoken those words or had he, Mark, created them in his head?  
He looked wordlessly at John.  
And in John's eyes he saw despair.   
"Please ... can you tell me? I don't know who else I can ask."  
Mark shut his eyes. Images he didn't want to remember flooded his mind. He tried to drive them back out again, but they were persistent. Demanding.  
Mark licked his dry lips. "I don't know if I'm the right one to ask, John."  
He could feel John's eyes on him. He kept his fixed on his drink.  
"I don't know who else I could ask." John's reply was simple.  
Having no more words, Mark took another swig of his beer. His mind was in a turmoil of memories.  
John spoke, as if to himself, his forefinger drawing patterns on the old oak table.  
"I have a boyfriend who has fucking nightmares like you wouldn't believe. I just wanna help him."  
Mark shifted again, uncomfortable. John looked up at him swiftly.  
"Tell me!" he demanded, then added more quietly "Please."  
Mark was starting to sweat profusely. "Please believe me, John, I had nothing to do with anything that went on. It was .. it was a particular group. I was just there because I .. because I knew someone who knew someone .."  
Mark took another gulp of his beer. He shouldn't have come. How had it gone from hello to this in a matter of a few minutes?  
John was a big guy. And nearly twenty years younger. Mark didn't reckon his chances if he tried to run.  
He shut his eyes, but the images pressed against his eyelids. A young lad. Long limbed. Wide eyed. Scared.  
He opened them and found John watching him intently.  
There was nowhere he could go. If he closed his eyes the nightmare was the same.   
He should have done something. It had always haunted him. He should have done something. Had the guts to step in. Others had felt the same. He knew they had.  
There were mutterings. Every time there was a party there were mutterings. Unease. But everyone had been too scared of Luke Standon and any comeback. Too scared to step in and halt it.  
Now John. Pushing. Pushing for the truth.  
"John. I ..."  
Mark really didn't want to be here. He wished he was at home. He should have gone home.  
"Please" John was persistent.  
Mark was aware his hands were trembling. His breathing was uneven.  
"Please. I'm not blaming you."  
Not blaming me? I'm blaming me.   
I'm blaming me because I didn't do anything.  
I'm blaming everyone else too because they didn't do anything to stop it either.  
It was just a bit of fun.  
That's what they said.  
Just a bit of fun.  
Mark stared into his drink without seeing it.   
The boy deserved his story to be told.  
The words poured out in a stream. "They drugged him. I don't know what with. Enough to keep him quiet. Then they ... they tied him to a bed and took turns at raping him."  
When Mark looked up, John had gone.  
The only clue he'd ever been there at all was the unfinished drink left on the table.

John never knew how he got home. His vision was blurred with tears he didn't know he was crying. His hands were balled into fists. The way he felt, he could have taken on the whole world. But there was only one person he wanted to take on, and he was now dead. John's feet pounded the pavement in a rhythmic tattoo on the way home to Ritchie's. The fact that people stopped to stare at this agitated figure went over his head.  
He shouldn't have asked.  
He was left with an awful visual picture in his head.  
He couldn't eradicate it.  
And he couldn't do anything about it.  
Was he any better off now he knew?  
Jesus ... Paul would never have told him that. Never.  
He paused outside the green painted front door, collecting himself.  
Be rational, he chided himself.   
You wanted to know. Now you know. And you know the worst.  
And it explains a lot of things.  
Doesn't make it any easier, but it might give an insight.  
He drew a deep breath, and went to unlock the door.  
To his surprise, it opened.  
Paul was there, looking at him anxiously.  
"Are you okay?"  
John blinked. Was he okay? That Paul, his Paul, should ask him that. After everything he'd been through.  
He slipped his arms around the younger man, pulling him into a tight embrace.  
He nuzzled Paul's neck, making him squirm.  
"I'm fine ... I'm fine now I've got you"  
Paul pulled back and looked at him with wide eyes.  
"Is everything okay?"  
John summoned a smile, feeling his cheeks must be cracking with the effort.  
"Everything is fine. What about you?"  
A little smile appeared, and John was so relieved.  
"I'm good. I've been helping Ritchie make the tea. He finished early today .. he was already home when I got here. That was nice."  
As John stepped through the door he breathed a sigh of relief. Good old Ritchie. He owed him one. Or two. Or three. Or .. lots.  
John unwound his scarf and sniffed the air.  
"What we having then?"  
Paul chewed his bottom lip, then transferred to his fingernail.  
"We, er ... well, I made something, but it didn't work so Ritchie is just rescuing the meal, so we've got sausage and mash. " Paul suddenly brightened, looking at John. "I peeled the potatoes, though."  
Going into the kitchen, led by Paul, John couldn't help but notice the whiff of something having been burnt, and he caught Ritchie's eye, who gave him a slow wink.  
"Sausage and mash, John. Ready in a bit"  
Paul was rummaging in the cupboard to find a mug for John.  
Over Paul's back, Ritchie mouthed at John "Okay?" silently.  
John nodded.  
Well, no, it wasn't okay.  
It would never be okay.  
Because he couldn't undo the past.  
He couldn't protect Paul from what had happened.  
But it was okay because he was home.  
And Paul was home.  
And they were together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Paddy's Wigwam, for those who do not know, is the Catholic Cathedral in Liverpool. As a Catholic lass growing up in the North West we always called it this.


	24. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Paul struggle to communicate with one another.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hiya. Just a short chapter. Still a bit dark at the moment, bear with me! We're getting there.

In Steve's warm brown eyes John saw sympathy. And compassion.  
But not surprise. Not shock.  
It dawned on John. His eyes narrowed accusingly.  
"You knew. You knew, didn't you?"  
Steve hesitated, contemplating, then indicated to John the chair at the opposite side of his desk and the two men sat down, John immediately leaning forward, a questioning frown on his face.  
Steve considered his words carefully.  
It was pretty obvious John had had a terrible shock.  
"We didn't know exactly, John, but we had a pretty good idea. Nobody owned up to anything, but sometimes the things people DON'T tell us are more informative than the things they do. Our investigation team are good at reading silences."  
John absorbed the information quietly, his fingers clenching and unclenching.  
Steve gave him time.  
"Does Paul know you've spoken to someone?"  
John shook his head. "No. It would be an invasion of his privacy. It's just .. I had to know. He wasn't going to say."  
"Are you surprised? Now you know, are you surprised he wouldn't tell you?"  
John shook his head again. "No. Not really."  
"And does it help? Knowing, that is?"  
John considered the question. "Possibly. It explains a lot of things. But .. d'you know what really bugs me? ... the fact that there will be still people out there who were involved."  
"We got most of them, John. At least, all the ones closely involved with Luke Stanton's ring."  
John's mind flipped back to the art exhibition. They didn't have all of them.  
"There's still some out there." John's voice was definite.  
Steve frowned, but chose not to elaborate.  
"There probably are. We've never stopped working at seeking them out, John."  
"Why was Paul sentenced?"  
Steve blinked in surprise at John's question.  
"I mean ... everything he went through, an' ... and he gets a fucking sentence and a criminal record ... 'scuse me French."  
Steve shuffled a few papers on his desk, gaining thinking time.  
"The thing is, John, Paul had dealt in drugs .. knowingly."  
"But .. but he didn't .."  
".. have much choice, I know what you are going to say. But you have to think of it from Paul's point of view too. He has a guilty conscience about what he did, and serving a sentence helps him assuage that guilt. He feels he's doing something to pay society back for the harm he did. I'm sure, with a lot of pushing, he probably could have got off scot free, but he needs to do this. He feels he's doing something .. and he is." Steve smiled broadly. "I think he's found a vocation running choirs for elderly people, don't you?"  
A reluctant smile touched John's face. "Yeah, reckon you're right there."  
"It's probably time to let it go, John. You can't change what happened. It was a bloody awful thing to happen, but it's over and done with. If Paul struggles to come to terms with it there is medical help available, but I get the feeling he won't go down that road. If you want to help him, I'd say just be there for him. That's really all you can do. And, in turn, we'll be here for you. When his sentence ends, we won't just cast you off, you know. A counsellor will be provided to assist for as long as is needed."  
John got the feeling his time with Steve was coming to an end, and he noticed the probation officer glance at the clock as if to confirm that.  
Steve cleared his throat. "I appreciate you sharing that information with me. It will go on Paul's file, and those who were appointed to investigate this case will be informed too. I assume you don't want to give me the name of the person you spoke to?"  
John looked alarmed for a moment. "Do I have to?"  
Steve pulled a wry expression. "As the case is pretty much closed, no, not really. But if any further issues occur, it may be useful. Would the man be willing to talk to us?"  
John blinked. "Well .. you know, he wasn't really involved in any way. Just happened to know someone who knew someone. He seems a genuine guy. I guess, if necessary, he would."  
Steve nodded. "Okay. And you would be able to contact him?"  
John nodded.   
Steve stood up. "Good. I appreciate your concern, John, and it's all been noted .. up here .." Steve smiled and tapped the side of his head. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have an appointment." He held his hand out to John.  
"I'll see you again soon. Take care of Paul, and remember, nothing you've said will be forgotten."

John stood outside the probation offices breathing in gulps of the spring scented air. It was a weight off his shoulders. Just to have shared the information with   
someone. It had been cathartic.  
He knew Ritchie had been watching him, and waiting.  
But much as he loved Ritchie ... and he did, bless the guy ... it hadn't been the kind of news he'd felt he could share with him. Not yet, anyway. Maybe one day.  
It didn't seem fair to Paul.  
He checked his watch.   
Time to head back to the shop.  
Rob, bless him, had taken over for a bit. John hadn't explained why he'd needed to go out. But Rob had never asked. Just covered for him.  
And, as it was a Saturday and Paul had a full list of pupils from opening until closing time, hopefully he wouldn't worry too much about where John had gone.  
So, they'd already guessed as much, then. The investigation team.  
John tried to look at it from their point of view.  
Christ, they must have to deal with some horrible issues.  
S'funny, John mused, as he headed to the bus stop. You don't always think about things going on. You live your life unaware of the fact that there's a sordid underworld operating. And someone having to pick up all the shit.

He showed the bus driver his ticket, and found himself a seat towards the back of the bus, from where he watched through a grimy window the familiar terrain pass by. March. In two months Ritchie would be getting married. In three months it would be Paul's 23rd birthday. In four months they would be moving into the flat, taking over the business, and Paul's sentence would be ended. So much to ... hopefully ... look forward to. Having Paul to himself. Every night. Their own place.  
John smiled to himself. Better get a few ready meals in, then.  
"Hi. Fancy meeting you here."  
John looked up, surprised, and gave a delighted grin at the sight of Stu.  
"Hey, mate, where you off to?"  
"Just heading in to the centre. Need some art supplies, y'know. For those shitty paintings, remember?"  
John's smile broadened. "I remember."  
Stu indicated the empty seat as he swung himself into it. "Where's your other half then?"  
"Working."  
"Oooh. Got him well trained, eh?"  
John blinked. Disturbing images kept invading his mind. He tried to shove them back out.  
Christ, was this what Paul dealt with every day.  
"He's a good kid" John mumbled, and Stu glanced at him sideways, concerned.  
His eyes darkened, and he frowned. "Eh, I didn't say he wasn't" Stu added quietly.  
John's gaze swung to meet Stu's. "Sorry." John rubbed a hand over his eyes as if he could scrub away the images of Paul .. of Paul being .. of ... fuck! He scrubbed his eyes harder.  
"Sorry. It's been a few difficult days."  
Stu's smile faded. "Anything I can help with?"  
John pushed a sigh out, his cheeks puffing. "No. No, not really."  
"Is Paul okay?"  
John nodded. "Yeah, he's fine. Coping. That's what he does, y'know, in his own way."  
Stu nodded understandingly, although he didn't REALLY understand. It was still incredible to him that these two had ever got together. Ever met, even, coming from such different backgrounds. He gave a sideways glance at John, wondering about the subdued mood.  
"I'm, er, so sorry about what happened, y'know, the other week."  
John shrugged. "Not your fault."  
There was a silence. Stu licked his dry lips.  
"How was the concert?"  
John looked up, surprised. "Concert?"  
"You said Paul was doing a concert. Wondered how it went, is all."   
John's face lit up. "It was awesome. Paul was just .. incredible. Every one said so. The old folk really enjoyed it. The matron said when Paul finishes his sentence she's going to buy him in privately to do musical activities with the old biddies. He's really good with 'em."  
Stu was relieved to see John buck up. He'd never liked a miserable John. It didn't suit him.  
"Good. That's good. When does his sentence finish?"  
"Middle of July, all being well. Fuck ... my stop!" John charged to his feet and pressed the bell. "Sorry Stu, gotta fly. Keep in touch."  
John was gone, leaping off the platform, giving a final wave.  
Stu sighed and leaned back in his seat, thinking.  
What was the attraction of Paul? ... apart from the obvious.  
There had to be something.  
Looks weren't everything.  
Stu tapped his fingers together.  
Paul didn't like him, that was for sure.  
He had no idea why. He'd never done anything to the guy.  
Jealousy?  
Stu shook his head.  
Then again, maybe.  
Maybe he was insecure.   
Possessive of John.  
That would be a shame.  
Stu liked John. Loved the guy, actually. Would like to remain friends.  
Difficult to do with a jealous partner.  
Ah well. Nothing else to do but win Paul over. Convince him he wasn't out to take John away from him.

John charged into the shop and Rob looked up from serving a customer as the bell madly swung from the door being flung open.  
Rob grinned broadly. John was always like a bull at a gate.  
"Everything okay?" Rob asked casually after having waved goodbye to the customer.   
John ran a hand over his ruffled hair, simply messing it up even more.  
"Yeah, yeah, fine. Er, thanks for that, Rob."  
Rob was curious, but didn't like to ask. Hoping John would volunteer the information.  
Probably something to do with Paul, he surmised.  
From the music room came the sound of a piano being played .. badly.  
John raised his eyebrows and Rob grimaced.  
"Dunno how your boyfriend puts up with it. He's on to a loser here."  
John shrugged his jacket off. "Well, y'know Paul. He's convinced every one has got a bit of music in them with the right encouragement."  
"Need a lot of bloody encouraging with this one" Rob muttered under his breath.  
John grinned back. "Happy to take back over, if you wanna disappear."  
Hmm. No information forthcoming then. Rob nodded. "Yeah, okay. Upstairs if you need me."  
"Paul been okay?" It was a casual query but Rob pricked his ears up.  
"Fine. Asked where you were a bit ago but told him you'd just popped out."  
"Ah, right."  
Rob tugged one of his dangling earrings.  
"Er ... where did you go?"  
John blinked. "Just .. out."  
Rob raised an eyebrow.  
"Nosy!" teased John.  
"Ay, I'm y'boss ... I have a right to be."  
John shrugged. "If y' must know, I popped to see Paul's probation officer. I wanted to tell him something. But I don't want Paul knowing I went, okay?"  
Rob nodded and made a zipping up motion across his mouth. "No probs mate."

As Rob disappeared through the door that led to the upstairs flat, the music room door opened and a young guy with a bad case of acne emerged, clutching a book of piano music. Paul was following just behind, and at the sight of John a smile lit up his face.  
Almost immediately after a shadow crossed it.  
John noticed, and couldn't help but wonder why.

Paul was relieved to see John back, but he had no idea where his boyfriend had been. Where he'd gone.  
He didn't want to ask. He didn't want to appear so clingy.  
Paul had tried to analyse his behaviour ever since John's outburst over Stu.  
He was too needy, he'd decided. John probably felt he was being stifled by Paul.  
He couldn't help it. He needed John, as in REALLY needed him.   
When John was there he felt secure. Protected.  
Jesus, he really was a girl, wasn't he.  
He couldn't explain to John the anxiety he felt. If John left him ... if John got fed up of him ... if John decided he wanted Stu instead. He wouldn't know what to do.  
Paul determined that he would try to be more independent. Not lean so much on John. Try not to be so possessive. Give John space to go out with others if he wanted.  
Even though that would break Paul's heart.

John watched a swathe of emotions cross Paul's face and it was as if he could read each and every one.  
Then he watched the chin tilt slightly in determination.  
He so wished he could give Paul confidence.  
Confidence to be himself. Confidence to trust in himself. To appreciate his own worth.  
He saw Paul's mouth start to form the words 'where have you been', think better of it, then close it again.  
He knew full well what was running through Paul's mind. John had chided himself so many times over losing his temper at Paul after he'd been for a drink with Stu.   
He didn't want Paul to close off to him.   
He just wanted to encourage him to be independent.  
Secure in his relationship with John.

As the young spotty lad left the shop, John moved forward and took Paul into his arms. He felt a moments hesitation, and then Paul leaned in, his head on John's shoulder.  
John rifled his nose through the soft dark hair and gave him a hug.  
"Hard work, that one, eh?"  
He could feel Paul's breath warm through his shirt, making it slightly damp.  
He could feel the tension in the young man's body.  
This had been a difficult few days for both of them.  
Paul hadn't spoken about the nightmare, flashback, whatever it was he'd had. Maybe he couldn't recall it? But it had left a black cloud over him. He wasn't his usual self.  
And Mark's revelations had left John feeling inadequate. Helpless. Powerless.  
They stood there, wrapped in each other's arms, but separate, unable to share.

When they got home that evening they found Ritchie in the kitchen with bags full of extra groceries.  
"I thought we could have a traditional Sunday dinner tomorrow." He gesticulated to the counter that was covered with the necessary ingredients.  
He wanted to do something to lift his two housemates. He had no idea what had been told to John, but something had disturbed his equilibrium. And Paul was not his normal chatty self either. It was as if they were each wrapped in their own misery and couldn't reach out to one another.  
"George is free too so he's gonna come and Lottie said she'll cook."  
Paul cast his eyes across the pile of food Ritchie was busy finding room for in the fridge.  
"You've not forgotten George is vegetarian, have you?" he asked, then suddenly turned away, mumbling to himself "No, of course you haven't ... shurrup Paul."  
Ritchie and John exchanged an amused glance over the top of Paul's head.  
"What's that all about? Eh?" John enquired with a raised eyebrow.  
Paul shrugged and went to move off, but John caught him by the wrist.  
"Oy, what's up? Eh?"  
Paul muttered something John couldn't quite catch, and John frowned.  
"What?"  
"'m just saying .. I needtostopinterfering.." The few final words were rushed together.  
John managed to catch the muttered words this time.  
Ritchie hesitated, looking across.  
"It's not interfering, Paul, to remind us of something you think we might have forgotten. I mean ... I HAVEN'T forgotten, but I could have for all you know." Ritchie said.  
John eyed his boyfriend anxiously, then attempted to switch the subject.  
"So ... what we having then, Ritch?" Keep it light. Keep it bright.  
"Chicken 'n' new potatoes and things like that and an apple pie ... except that's ready made. Lottie's really looking forward to cooking ... says she can practice on me before we get married."  
"Sounds good. Will she need any help? I mean ... I can always loan Paul here."  
Paul didn't rise to the bait as John thought he would.  
In fact, he looked totally distracted.  
John was beginning to wonder what was going on in that head of his.

By the time John made it up to bed Paul was already fast asleep, rolled into a tight ball.  
Nonetheless a tie had been neatly laid across John's pillow. He shook his head sadly.  
It had been almost four months since Paul had sleep walked and still he insisted on this routine of tying their ankles together. John was tempted to leave it. Surely Paul would be okay by now. They couldn't spend the rest of their lives being shackled together. It was a bit limiting.  
Then again ... John tried to peer at Paul's face but it was buried deep within his arms ... maybe now wasn't the time to suggest they abstained from doing this. Paul was definitely not quite himself at the moment. Ever since that night. That nightmare. That flashback. Whatever it had been. It had certainly unsettled Paul.   
John sighed, and thoughtfully fingered the silky tie.  
One step at a time, John, he reminded himself.  
One fucking step at a time.

George seemed to bring with him endless bundles of joy. From the first greeting and the sight of that enormous smile. He seemed to spread love all round. Everyone got a hug. A bunch of flowers. Chocolate for Lottie. Beer for the boys. His personality filled the room.  
Paul hung close to him, as if by being near he could absorb some of George's happiness.  
John's heart ached.  
He so wished he could be the one to bring a smile to that face.  
He saw George throw his arm around Paul's shoulders as he sat down on the settee and pull him in close to his side.   
John watched Paul's eyes scanning George's face, not listening to what was being said, but just watching.  
Watching George.  
There was a lot going on at the moment behind those dark eyes.  
John couldn't read him.

It was George's voice, quiet in his ear, as everyone was clearing up after lunch.  
"What's wrong?"  
John turned his head and gazed into George's eyes.  
He grimaced. "Don't really know, but he had a fuckin' awful nightmare a few nights ago. He's not been quite the same since."  
George nodded, and moved away as Paul entered the room with a tray of drinks.  
John saw him hesitate. Had they been talking about him? The suspicion was there.  
"So, this wedding then?" Good old George. Shift the conversation onto solid ground.

It was later in the day when John told him.  
He hadn't intended to tell anyone, but the truth burnt within him, pleading to be let out.  
Paul and Ritchie had popped to the shop for more beers and Lottie had gone back home, so the two men were on their own.  
George looked at him, and a shadow crossed his face. "Poor kid" he muttered.  
John stared at his clenched hands. "I could fucking kill 'em."  
"It wouldn't change things for Paul though, would it. That's revenge. You want justice."  
John paused, absorbing George's words.  
"There are some still out there, y'know. I know that from the other week."  
George nodded. "I'm sure there are. They'll get their come uppance one day. Maybe not in this life. But one day."

They went early to bed.   
John perched on the edge of the mattress, taking off his socks. his eyes on Paul who had his back to him as he slipped out of his shirt.  
He couldn't remember the last time they'd had sex. Sorry, made love.  
And after what he'd heard from Mark there was a reluctance in John to make the first move.  
He didn't want Paul to think that was the only reason he was interested in him.  
That their relationship was purely based on sex. Even though, by now, Paul surely realised it wasn't.  
He sighed, heavily, and hearing that Paul turned to face him, his fingers poised at the button of his jeans.  
John felt a surge of want shoot to his groin. Did this guy realise just how sexy he was? Without even trying?  
John groaned out loud. He hadn't meant to. Why was life so fucking complicated?  
Paul raised a questioning eyebrow. "John? You okay?"  
John narrowed his eyes. There was a sadness surrounding Paul at the moment. You could almost see it. Like an aura.  
There was a vulnerability too. And John didn't feel he could make a move. Not after what Mark had said.  
He shouldn't have asked. It had left him with disturbing mental images.  
And Paul? What went through his mind each time they made love? Did he feel used? Abused?   
Did he go along with it just because John wanted to?  
John sighed again. "Just tired, I guess, Paul."

Paul shifted, unsure.  
What did John mean by that?  
Did he mean he was tired as in wanted to go to sleep?  
Or did he mean he was tired as in tired of him? Of Paul?  
He wasn't much fun at the moment, he knew that.  
He felt as if he was in a trough and couldn't dig himself out.  
A trough of despair.  
They hadn't made love for a while. Paul tried to think how long?  
A week? Maybe more?  
When they'd first become an item they hadn't been able to get enough of one another.  
Hardly even got their clothes off before they tumbled into bed.  
Maybe he should make the first move?  
Then again, John had said he was tired.  
Maybe he would think Paul was pushy, doing that. Being inconsiderate.  
Maybe ... maybe John was getting bored of him.  
Maybe he didn't find him as attractive anymore?  
Maybe Stu was more to his taste.  
If he didn't have John, then ... where could he go?  
Back to George?  
Again?  
Paul slid down to sit on the floor, leaning against the bed.  
He wasn't thinking logically. He knew he wasn't. He told himself that sternly.  
At least, the part of his brain that could think logically told the other half of his brain that.  
But the other half wouldn't listen.  
Didn't want to listen.  
He was losing John.  
He didn't know why.  
He didn't know what he'd done.  
But he was losing him.


	25. Chapter 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John talks, another bridge is crossed.  
> And, hopefully, a bit of humour as John and Paul cook .. or try to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the comments and kudos. I'm loving writing this .. hope you enjoy it at least half as much. I'm being completely indulgent here, I know.

In the quiet numbing darkness John felt movement, slight, subtle, but enough to disturb him. He could feel a tugging at his ankle, gentle but persistent, and he peeped from behind his lashes to see what was going on. In the gloom of their room Paul's back, leaning over, was white, and it was his fingers untying their shackle that had woken John.  
John froze still, giving no hint that he was awake. Either Paul was sleep walking again or he really was awake and trying to extricate himself. John screwed his eyes tight shut and concentrated on touch alone to inform him what was happening.   
He heard a muffled exclamation, then suddenly the tie slithered from round his ankles, it's hardly distinguishable pressure gone. For a moment the figure beside him was stationary. John guessed, correctly, that Paul was sussing out whether or not John had been disturbed. Then the bed dipped slightly as it was relieved of Paul's weight. John noted immediately the loss of warmth beside him. Peering through his eyelashes he could see the outline of Paul standing, and hid a smile as he saw Paul reach out for John's discarded t-shirt and pull it swiftly over his head. Paul stood perfectly still for a moment ... John got the distinct impression he was being watched, and instinctively held his breath. Paul's movements were too calculated to be sleep walking. Every move was being logically processed.   
After a minute or two he sensed Paul move away, although he was so finely tuned to the young man's presence he knew he was still in the room. What was he doing? There was the sound of a drawer opening, and John peered across the room. Paul was squatting down at the bottom drawer of the dresser where he kept his underwear .. ah!! .. and the notebook. John had almost forgotten about that. Paul retrieved something from the drawer, closed it, and straightened up. He glanced across at the bed and John shut his eyes swiftly.  
John was fairly sure he wasn't sleepwalking.  
What was he doing?  
John kept his eyes tightly closed.  
He heard the sigh of the door as it opened and closed again, and John let out a breath he wasn't aware he was holding.

John gave Paul a few minutes, then he swung his feet out of bed and reached for his dressing-gown, tying it swiftly around him. He made a mental note to himself that maybe this would make a useful present for Paul, save him having to keep pinching John's cast off t-shirts. He had no idea what Paul was up to, but considering the state of Paul's mind at the moment he didn't feel he should leave him on his own. Quietly, John padded downstairs. A light shone from under the parlour door, and he opened it gently.  
Paul looked up, startled, his face flooding with colour, and swiftly shoved something underneath the cushion of the chair he was sitting on.  
John paused, his hand still on the doorknob. Was he interfering?   
He could feel the gap between them. A chasm.   
"Are you okay?"  
He saw Paul's adam's apple bob as he swallowed nervously, and nodded, frozen in position.  
John crossed the room to him, and he saw Paul pull back slightly, his eyes wide and dark, defensive, almost.  
John perched on the arm of the chair. He felt hollow inside. He was struggling to cope with what he'd been told, and didn't know how to reach out and help Paul. It was as if he was too bogged down in misery to assist Paul out of his misery. And yet another part of John told him he had to try. He had to reach out. Paul needed him. He knew that.  
He summoned every ounce of energy he had, and it was as if he was dragging a mountainous weight with him.  
"I woke, and you'd gone ... and I thought .." John puffed out a breath, rubbing his hand over his hair as he did so.  
He could feel Paul's eyes fixed on him.  
Come on, Lennon, try. Try! he chided himself.  
"You're not sleep walking, are you?" he attempted a joke. He didn't know how to cope so he tried to joke it off.  
Paul shook his head, his eye contact never breaking.  
"What were you doing?" Shit! I shouldn't have asked that.  
Paul's face coloured even more. "Nothing" he mumbled, dropping eye contact as he always did when he lied.  
John chose not to chase it up.  
And he was tired. So tired. It was a mental tiredness.  
He could see the goosebumps on Paul's arms. The heating wasn't on at night and the late March evenings were still cold yet.  
Paul's glance had switched to the window, through which nothing could be seen but blackness.  
It was almost a dismissive gesture.  
John sighed, and rose to his feet. "If you're okay, I'll just head back to bed then."  
Paul's nod was almost imperceptible, and John turned away.  
From the edge of his vision he saw Paul swipe a finger under his eyes.  
John paused.  
He turned back.  
"Paul?"  
Paul shifted away, curling his back towards John. Turning inwards.  
Something snapped.  
John crossed swiftly back and yanked Paul up into his arms, feeling the chill on the alabaster skin.  
For a moment Paul's eyes flashed wide, scared, then the heavy lids dropped protectively, hiding all emotions.  
John surveyed him for an aeon of time, taking in the sculpted cheekbones, the parted lips that were quivering slightly with each breath, then he swiped a tear trail away with his thumb, and he heard Paul swallow. Gently John slid his arms around the young man's body, slipping his hands underneath the t-shirt, and Paul's breath hitched. Pulling him closely in, John realised that Paul wore nothing below the t-shirt, and that same want that he'd experienced earlier shot to his groin again. John slid his hands lower, over Paul's bare backside, and tugged him as closely as he could to his own body. He knew Paul's breathing had increased, he could feel the hot breaths gusting on his neck.   
John's lips sought Paul's, and his heart jumped when he felt Paul respond, felt the younger man lean into him, their tongues colliding, searching. John let go to nibble at Paul's neck just below the ear, where Paul was ticklish, and felt him squirm in his arms. John moved his lips up to Paul's ear.  
"God, I need you .. I really need you .. so desperate .." his hand searched lower, fondling Paul's throbbing prick, tenderly cupping the full sac, tangling in the curly black hair.  
"Got to .. just .. got to .. please.." He gently pushed Paul back towards the settee, causing Paul to collapse on it when he neatly hooked his foot under Paul's ankles, effectively tripping him over. John followed him down, landing on top of him, chasing his mouth, desperate to keep that contact. John's fingers trailed lower, lower still, between Paul's legs, and Paul moaned deliriously, his head thrown back, and his legs fell apart to allow John better access. John trailed kisses, down his chest, poking a tongue into the hairy navel, leaving a saliva trail down to the length of Paul's erection, then lower still, across the sensitive sac, pausing to suck teasingly at his hole. Paul's legs jerked, and John captured them before he got kicked, but refused to let go. His tongue traced the rim, flicking teasingly across, then darting in to withdraw again. In no time at all Paul was a writhing mess beneath him.  
"For Chrissake, John, just .. just do it, yeah?" he heard Paul gasp.  
John smiled. He truly smiled. He was aware of want and happiness all tangled up, and of Paul, heated and desiring.  
He slipped a finger in, felt Paul clench and then relax. He probed around, feeling for the bumpy prostate. Even as his finger touched it Paul leapt, his back arching.  
"Oh Christ, John .. stop fucking about .." Paul was trying to sit up, to reach John, reach himself, anything that would give him release, and John pushed him back down, stopping to give him a brief but passionate kiss.  
"Patience. I'm getting there."  
John slipped another finger in, gently stretching Paul, who groaned, and flopped his arms wide, muttering a stream of profanities.  
John's smile grew at the sound. Maybe they should have done this before. Maybe he should have stopped having hang-ups.  
He removed his fingers and pushed gently in, and the heat of Paul's body and the muscles clenched around him.   
John moaned wantonly, and tangled his fingers in Paul's thick hair as he set a steady rhythm, feeling the hardness of Paul's prick between them where he lay on top of him.  
Paul's head was thrown back, his eyes wide and glassy, and he jerked when John eased off slightly and gently swiped the tip of Paul's swollen crown with his thumb.  
"Oh God Johnny yes please.."   
John kept up his steady rhythm, rejoicing in the closeness he'd missed so much, feeling the surge gathering. He wanted to experience Paul's orgasm first, though, while he was buried deep inside him. John pushed himself up, leaning on his elbows which were quivering with his weight and the energy that he was using, struggling to keep the rhythm going, bent his head and licked the tip of Paul's prick before taking as much as he could in to his mouth. Paul let out a stream of gibberish and bucked into John's mouth. John could feel Paul's orgasm build, feel the body that he was buried in clench and close around him, felt the surge as Paul tipped over the edge, and what a delightful feeling it produced around John's prick, tightening and pulling him along in it's wake. He held on for as long as he could then let himself go, collapsing in a sweaty heap on top of Paul, who was humming quietly under his breath.  
Humming?  
John leaned up on one elbow and surveyed Paul with amusement and fondness.  
Paul's mouth curved in a smile, even though he didn't stop humming, and his eyes were open and clear and happy.  
Should have fucked before, John thought idly to himself.

John drew his dressing gown around him to keep warm, enclosing Paul at the same time who lay between his legs, head resting on John's chest. Paul was still humming ... nothing that John could recognise, although it seemed it seemed to be the same tune over and over again. John trailed his fingers through Paul's dark messy locks, enjoying the weight of him between his legs, on his chest, keeping each other warm. Paul squirmed around until he was on his side and twiddled unconsciously with John's chest hair. It was as if they were delighting in just feeling each other again after a long absence. The gulf, John realised, had been of their own making.  
They should learn to communicate more. Communicate. Period.  
"What you humming?" John whispered.  
Paul shook his head, a tiny smile still lurking round his lips, although he didn't stop humming.  
I should try, thought John. Be open. Be truthful.  
Maybe Paul can trust me enough to do the same back.  
The quiet darkness of the room inspired secrets to be spoken.  
Things that could not be said in the light of day.  
His fingers kept gently carding Paul's hair, and he could see Paul's lids starting to droop.  
"I spoke to someone the other day."  
He felt Paul tense up, suddenly alert. The humming stopped.  
John calmly carried on teasing his fingers through Paul's hair, pretending he'd not noticed.  
John pushed the words out. They were so hard to say.  
"He told me what had happened to you."  
Now Paul froze. Next moment, he turned in John's arms, looking up at him from beneath thick lashes, his eyes questioning.  
John gave a small smile. "I have to tell you. We shouldn't have any secrets between us. I didn't want you to think I'd gone behind your back .. although I realise, of course, I did."  
Colour flooded Paul's face. "You .. you did what? Who? Who did you talk to?"  
John reached out to continue stroking Paul's hair, but Paul eased back, out of reach. He was uneasy. Worried.  
John closed his eyes briefly. This wasn't going to be an easy conversation, but he wanted Paul to know that he knew. And that knowing made no difference to how he felt about him.  
"It was in confidence, Paul. The guy felt very guilty about everything that had gone on. He wasn't anything to do with it, though. At least ... " a tiny spark of doubt flickered in John's mind, but he extinguished it quickly..." I don't think so."  
Paul was at a loss. And confused. John said he knew ... did that mean he really knew?  
He opened his mouth to ask a hundred questions, then closed it again when he realised he didn't know where to start. How much did John know?  
John smiled at him. Warm. Encouraging. "You should talk to me, y'know. None of it makes any difference to how I feel about you."  
Paul flopped his head back on John's chest. He shut his eyes. This was overwhelming.  
"I don't know what he told you" he muttered, a touch of stubbornness tinging the words.  
John went for it. The words almost choked in his throat, but he forced them out. It was now or never.  
"He told me they'd tied you up and raped you."  
He felt Paul's breath catch. Thin fingers suddenly twisted in the chest hair so tightly that John grit his teeth. He held on.  
He slid his fingers back into Paul's hair, teasing the soft strands gently, enjoying the smell that rose from the dark locks.  
"You could have told me, Paul. It would have explained a lot. An' like I said .. it makes no difference to how I feel about you. We need to talk. It's important."  
John gave a squeeze of Paul's forearm. "I love you, y'know."  
He could feel the breath from Paul's mouth, warm and moist on his chest.  
Then a dampness, seeping through.  
John kept stroking.  
A tremor shivered the slim body.  
John kept stroking.   
Paul's fingers let go of John's chest hair. He rubbed his eyes, pressing the knuckles in tightly. Screwing them fiercely.  
John kept stroking, and let him cry.  
They were muffled sobs, stored for years behind a sealed dam.  
John didn't try and stop him. Paul needed to let all this go. Let it all out.  
Time didn't matter. In that dark little room any sense of the normal world flew away.  
It was just John and Paul.   
John gave Paul all the space he needed and all the time he needed to grieve.  
The clock ticked merrily away on the mantelpiece. John heard the hum of the fridge in the kitchen. In the darkness normal life was still going on all around them.  
John felt as if they were in another time and space. A vortex they had to cross to get to the next universe. To the next part of their lives.  
Part of his brain was attuned to hearing Paul's quiet cries. Part was attuned to the sounds all around him. Part was attuned to his own thoughts. He had no idea what length of time had passed, and It took a moment for him to register that Paul was silent. Apart from the odd hiccup. And that he was still there, between John's legs. He hadn't run away. And that he was running his thumb in little circles over John's chest.  
"Better?" John enquired, never ceasing his stroking of Paul's hair.  
There was a tiny nod.  
John sighed. "Good. That's good. Maybe we can get on with our lives now."

The sight that met Ritchie's eyes early the next morning brought him up sharp. He blinked, disbelieving, and took another look.  
John and Paul were fast asleep on the settee, John's dressing gown attempting to cover them both, and a purple throw hastily dragged over completed the attempt.  
They were both dead to the world, John's head thrown back in what looked an uncomfortable position, Paul's head resting contentedly on John's chest, his fingers tightly gripping, even in sleep, the edge of the throw.  
Ritchie blinked again. Had something happened?  
He glanced at the clock. Just before six. Shame to wake them really. They didn't need to be up yet. But ... he DID need breakfast. Carefully he tiptoed to the kitchen, holding his breath, shutting the kitchen door quietly behind him. He winced as he turned on the tap to fill the kettle, and winced even more when it began to boil. Were those actions usually so noisy? He rummaged in the cupboard for a mug and a bowl ... he still couldn't find half of his stuff since Paul's tidy up weeks ago ... and startled himself when a plastic cup bounced onto the kitchen floor and rolled around a few times. How on earth had THAT got in there? As he stooped to pick it up, the door opened, hitting his head.  
"Ow" "Oh, fuck .. sorry.."  
John stood there, looking slightly embarrassed, tugging his dressing gown more tightly around him.  
Ritchie grinned as he straightened up. "Have a good night, did you?"  
John wiggled his eyebrows. "Maybe. Er, sorry 'bout that. You okay?"  
Ritchie rubbed his head. "I'll live."  
"Johnny?" a soft voice, still husky with sleep, joined in.  
John and Ritchie both swivelled their gaze to look at Paul who'd appeared in the kitchen doorway. Then Ritchie blushed and averted his gaze as he realised Paul had nothing on his bottom half at the same time Paul dazedly became aware of his predicament. Paul's hands swept to his front, grasping and pulling down John's t-shirt in a modest attempt to cover up.  
John chuckled loudly, and swiftly stepped in front of him. "Sorry 'bout this, Ritch. Bit of a shock in a morning, innit?"  
He heard Paul turn, feet flying up the stairs.  
Ritchie carefully peeled open one eye. "Can I look now?"   
John exaggeratedly turned and surveyed the empty room. "Yup. It's safe to come out."  
Ritchie couldn't help but notice the lighter tone of John's voice. Hopefully whatever had dragged his two housemates down had been sorted.  
"Enough water in there for me an' Paul?" John indicated the kettle with a wave of his hands.  
Ritchie nodded. "Should be. You .. er ... both okay?"  
John nodded vigorously. "Never been better, ta."

It was a few minutes later, after John had taken two teas upstairs, that Ritchie moved into the parlour and began automatically tidying up, plumping up the cushions, shaking out the throw, straightening the covers on the armchair, that he found a small notebook shoved under the seat cushion of one of the armchairs. Curiously, he flicked the pages, frowning, puzzled by the odd mix of contents, then .. because it was late and he had to get ready for work .. he stuck it on the mantelpiece where it could be seen. It didn't look like John's doodles, he thought vaguely, so it was probably Paul's. It certainly wasn't a shopping list of Lottie's. He thought no more about it.

Paul spent the day humming as he worked in the shop. It was low, under his breath, like a perpetual vibration.  
Like having a bloody fly buzzing round, John thought fondly.  
His revelation of the night before didn't seem to have affected Paul .. at least, not in a negative way.  
The younger man seemed content, his eyes open and sparkling, even if a bit dreamy, as he moved smoothly from one job to another. If he caught John's eye, he would smile.  
In fact, they smiled so much that day that John was convinced his muscles were aching. They also took advantage of every little moment to touch each other .. a hand brushed seemingly accidentally across a back, a flick of a wrist .. they kept being drawn to one another as if magnetised.  
And Paul ... Paul seemed .. lighter, somehow .. as if a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. His eyes clear, more transparent. John couldn't take his eyes off him.  
He thought it highly unlikely Paul would ever talk to him about what had gone on, but it seemed the fact John knew had made a difference. Paul no longer had anything to hide. Anything to be embarrassed about.  
And because he seemed content, it rubbed off on John.  
Didn't mean he didn't still want to kill the bastards who'd done that to Paul, though.

Ritchie was still at work when they arrived home, and Paul headed straight upstairs to change while John went to put the kettle on. The notebook was still prominently placed where Ritchie had left it, and John's eyes widened. He'd realised, straightaway, that that was what Paul had shoved under the cushion, but he'd forgotten about it in the aftermath of their impulsive and desperate lovemaking. He picked it up and moved into the kitchen, popping the kettle on and getting a couple of mugs. Curious, he turned to the last page. What had Paul been writing last night?  
He flicked past the tiny picture of the cat and dog, still staring hopefully off the page .. John gave a wry smile.  
He would definitely get Paul a dog.  
Bloody hell, he'd buy him a kennel full if he wanted.  
The page Paul had been writing on last night hadn't been completed. He wouldn't have had time, as John had been only a few minutes behind him.  
John's eyes darkened.   
Paul had only used the top half of a blank page .. he always seemed to conserve space.  
The word was clear, drawn in 3D, standing like connected blocks of stone. It simply said HELP, and around the word Paul had started to draw interlinking chains. There was a sudden scrawl where John had obviously startled him.   
John sighed heavily.   
Paul must have felt so abandoned.  
He hesitated, notebook in his hand, debating whether or not to look at any of the other pages. Flipping it from one hand to the other while the kettle boiled. He was curious .. but not as curious as he had been. Hopefully the next drawing Paul did in there would be a positive one.  
As John dallied, kettle boiling, he heard Paul's feet flying downstairs.   
He shoved the notebook quickly into his pocket, expecting Paul to barge into the kitchen. However, Paul never made the kitchen. The sound of his footsteps slowed, remaining in the parlour. John could hear him moving about. He had a pretty good idea why.  
John gathered up the mugs and went into the parlour, sticking on a bland expression first, conscious of the book shoved in the back pocket of his jeans.  
Paul was kneeling by the armchair, his left hand stuck under the cushions, and at John's entrance he jumped up swiftly, colouring.  
John raised an eyebrow "You okay love? Lost something?"  
Paul opened and closed his mouth as he thought better of it, and shook his head briskly.  
"Ah .. just thought. Here, tea." John thrust the mug in Paul's direction. "I'm just gonna nip upstairs and sling a clean top on, then I'm gonna get a meal started, give Ritchie a break.  
D'you wanna start chopping something up?"  
Paul licked his lips nervously .. chop what up? Should it be obvious? He shoved his hands in his pockets and looked dumbstruck at John, who rewarded him with a smile.  
"See what's in the fridge, eh? Maybe an onion? Chop an onion, yeah?" Christ, John became aware of the fact he must sound so patronising when trying to encourage Paul to cook.  
Onion. Paul nodded, relieved. That was something he could do.  
"And maybe ..."  
Paul's eyes widened. Shit, John wasn't gonna ask him to do something else, was he?  
John saw the panic, and retracted swiftly. "....s'okay. Just an onion."  
Paul breathed a sigh of relief, and wandered off into the kitchen.

In the bedroom John withdrew the notebook from his pocket. That burning curiosity had gone. He didn't really need to look at it. He balanced it in his hand, noting the worn pages and faded colour. Paul must have had it nearly four years. It had travelled with him, from Luke's to George's to Ritchie's. A memento. Of things best forgotten and buried.  
John cast his eyes round the room. Where to put it? He couldn't put it in the drawer because then Paul would know he knew about it. He could put it on the bed, but ... well, Paul had already been upstairs and would have seen it. It needed to appear as if it had been dropped by accident. John realised, with a shrug, it would probably be better if he'd just left it where it was.   
As he stood there debating he heard the front door open and Ritchie's cheerful voice shout a 'hello', to be answered by Paul.  
Pulling a face, John shoved it back in his jeans pocket, pulled on a clean t-shirt and meandered downstairs. He found Ritchie in the kitchen with Paul, whose eyes were streaming from the effort of chopping an onion .. the situation made worse as he rubbed his eyes with an onion smelling hand coated in it's juices.  
"Are you cooking tea, John?" Ritchie looked so chuffed John didn't like to disappoint. He offered what he hoped was a brave smile and nodded.  
"Ah, fab. Me feet are killing me. It's been so busy .. Trevor said to say hi to you, Paul, and wants to know if you want your old job back yet. We're short staffed."  
Paul glanced quizzically at Ritchie, unsure if he was having his leg pulled. He wasn't very good at deducing Ritchie's jokes. Or Trevor's, come to that.  
He flashed Ritchie a wobbly smile, hoping that would suffice, and looked appealingly at John for what his next move should be. John caught his eye over the top of Ritchie's head.  
"What's in the fridge, babe?"  
Babe?!?! Ritchie blushed, not having heard John call Paul that before. It was very ... intimate.  
Then Paul blushed at Ritchie blushing.  
John found himself facing two pink faced guys before Paul quickly stuck his head in the fridge to avoid any more embarrassment.  
"There's .. er .. eggs and milk and some bacon and .. erm .. cheese. The kind you spread" Paul swiftly amended.  
John opened a cupboard and viewed it's contents. "We've got spaghetti. What if I do a simple carbonara?"  
Ritchie beamed, his stomach rumbling at the very idea. "Sounds wonderful. Could eat a potted donkey."  
"Paul, just chop me up some bacon while I get the onion frying, can you? It won't take long to make, Ritch. Done in no time. Have a beer while you wait."  
"Man, the day's just getting better and better" Ritchie declared to the room in general as he grabbed a beer and made his way into the parlour.

John slammed a saucepan full of water on the ring, adding a generous sprinkle of salt, and unwrapped a new packet of spaghetti.  
"Paul, just stick some oil in the pan can you? Heat it up for me."  
Heat it up? Heat it? ... John could hear Paul's mind whirring. Personally he was determined to get this lad cooking. Most things Paul set his mind to he did exceptionally well. Surely with some encouragement he could learn to cook?  
Paul was eyeing the controls of the cooker with a suspicious eye. The last thing he'd tried to cook he'd burnt.  
"What do I put it on?"  
John glanced over, keeping it light. "Oh, halfway. About five. Here, pass me the onions. Now look, you pop them in first and when they start to go transparent you add the bacon. Oh, and put some garlic in too, yeah?"  
A frown creasing his face, Paul nodded. Transparent? What did he mean by transparent?  
Paul decided not to pursue that line of enquiry in case it brought yet more details he wouldn't be able to remember.  
Put onions in, add garlic, then bacon. Yeah. Okay. He looked at the jar of garlic granules. How much? John hadn't said. While he perused it the onions began to sizzle merrily.  
"Paul .. the onions. Give 'em a stir, eh?"  
Paul started, almost dropping the jar of garlic, which he waved under John's nose. "How much?"  
John was busy feeding the spaghetti into the boiling water. "Hmm?"  
"Garlic, Johnny. How much? Do I put it all in?"  
John's eyes flew open, alarmed. "Fuck, no. Just a sprinkle. Like you would salt. Paul, the onions are burning."  
A panicked look crossed Paul's face. What was he supposed to do first?  
John reached over and lifted the pan off the heat. "Turn it down, love, to about three, and sprinkle some garlic in, then add the bacon, and stir. Okay? Once you've put the bacon in, turn the heat back up. Should only take about five minutes, by which time the spaghetti should be ready. Oh, and I'll need an egg, or two."

Paul really wanted to put everything down and leave the kitchen. There were too many instructions coming too fast for him to cope with. He had a feeling John was doing this deliberately. In fact .. yes .. there was a smirk on John's mouth.  
Paul put the spoon down and folded his arms. "I can't do it." He had a stubborn pout on his face.  
Startled, John looked across at him. They were inches apart, working at the same cooker. "What?"  
"I .. I can't do it. I'll mess it up, do something wrong .. you're having me on, aren't you?" Paul hesitated. "Aren't you???"  
John sighed, leaned across, gave Paul a peck on the cheek. "A bit, maybe, but I'm also trying to get you to learn how to cook. Gotta start somewhere. Otherwise I'm gonna be the one doing all the cooking. And you can do it, Paul. Now .. look .. jar .. garlic ... sprinkle, yeah?"  
A smile quirked Paul's lips. He picked up the jar, and repeated John's instructions, doing the action at the same time.  
John smiled encouragingly. "Good lad. Now .. add bacon .. stir .. turn the heat back up ... keep stirring. Easy, yeah?"  
Paul nodded, the tip of a pink tongue just poking out between his lips as he concentrated.  
All was quiet for a moment. They stood side by side, Paul stirring, John stirring.  
John glanced over. "Nearly done, love. Turn the heat down so it stays warm. Now, the art of a carbonara is to beat in raw egg while the spaghetti is warm. So, while I drain the spaghetti and put it back in the pan, can you crack me a couple of eggs into a bowl. One of those little pyrex bowls is fine."  
Paul reached into the cupboard behind him, extracted a bowl, took two eggs and neatly cracked them, dropping all the contents into the bowl.  
John, concentrating on the spaghetti, had not seen what Paul was doing. He reached his arm out.  
"Okay, pass me the eggs."  
Paul did. John looked in the bowl, disbelieving, then looked across at Paul.  
"Is this a joke of some kind?"  
Judging by the expression that crossed Paul's face it wasn't. He looked totally bemused by John's reaction.  
John sighed, shook his head, and moved the spaghetti off the heat. To Paul's surprise he tipped the contents of the bowl into the bin, and took another couple of eggs from the fridge, muttering something about how it was a good job they had plenty in.  
John heaved another sigh. "Paul, when we say crack an egg .. " John demonstrated by doing it very neatly on the side of the bowl .." it is customary to discard the shells. We do not eat them too."  
Paul's eyes were wide watching John perform this, to him, amazing feat.  
"That's .. that's incredible."  
John glanced up at him, amused. "It's pretty simple really, Paulie. All I can say is you'd better start earning a lot with that music of yours 'cos you sure to hell ain't gonna make a cook."  
Paul's grin split his face, his eyes crinkling at the corners in the way John loved.  
Paul was made to smile, John decided.  
And he was gonna make sure Paul did plenty of that in the future.

During the course of the evening John found a moment to slip the notebook back onto the mantelpiece. Minutes later, it had been taken.  
No one mentioned a thing.


	26. Chapter 26

Paul was first to arrive home from his work at the care centre. He paused to pick up the mail that had gathered on the mat just inside the door, and stopped to tidy his hair in the mirror in the hallway, automatically pulling a face at his reflection. Slipping out of his coat he perused the envelopes in his hands. Two brown envelopes for Ritchie .. probably bills .. a white envelope hand written for John .. curious ... who could that be from? ... Paul's brow furrowed and he ran his fingers over the envelope, trying to feel what was inside. It was thin .. maybe one sheet of paper. But .. handwritten? In this day and age? Paul sighed .. he'd have to wait until John got back to assuage his curiosity. He glanced at the last one and his heart rate accelerated. He never .. not ever .. got used to seeing his name in print. He swallowed. Stupid prick, he admonished himself. You've not done anything wrong. Stop panicking. He placed the others down carefully on the shelf below the mirror and, with his coat still over his arm, shakily opened the brown envelope addressed to him. 

Mr. J.P. McCartney. He didn't think he'd ever received mail at Ritchie's house before. After all, who would write to him? He could feel his heart hammering against his ribs. Maybe he should wait until John came home before he opened ??? ... no. No. Don't be stupid, Paul, he told himself. Be more independent. He exhaled a breath he wasn't aware he was holding as he unfurled the letter. It was a hospital appointment for the beginning of June. The final check-up. Almost a year since .. since ..   
Don't think. Don't think back. Look forward.  
Paul gave himself a mental shake, and left the opened mail with the unopened. He knew John would pick it up. John would make a note of the date. John would make sure he got to the appointment on the right day at the right time.   
At the moment certain things were still a struggle. Paul just had to face that fact. The everyday things he could do. Go to work. Get a bus. Help at the Care Home. But anything out of the ordinary still rocked his world yet. 

He moved into the house, and hung his coat up in the closet. Squaring his shoulders, he carried on in to the kitchen. He didn't like being in the house on his own. It spooked him, though he had no idea why. He would have been hard pressed to have explained his irrational fear to anyone .. even John. It was too quiet. Too .. empty. No one there.  
He glanced at the clock in the kitchen. It wasn't yet five, so no one would be home for a while. Aware of the fact he needed to keep busy, Paul filled the kettle and found himself a mug. He put the radio on .. loud .. to kill the silence that he found overpowering, and hunted out a teabag, sugar and spoon. Rifling through the cutlery drawer his fingers grazed the edge of a sharp knife. He withdrew it and frowned ... somewhere at the back of his mind was an elusive memory. Something to do with a knife? He couldn't pin the memory down. It kept escaping him. Each time he thought he was somewhere near to trapping the memory it would slither away from him again. Paul didn't think it was a good memory. His fingers smoothed the wooden handle of the knife, his brow furrowed. Why couldn't he remember things? He got the feeling there was a lot he'd forgotten. Great gaps in his memory.Chunks of time that just didn't tie up. It unnerved him.

The kettle steaming roused him from his meanderings, and he dropped the knife back into the drawer. Ritchie was working late, and John wouldn't be home for at least another fifty minutes. A song came on the radio that Paul liked, and he began singing along with it. His mood lightened with the music.

He had an idea. He should try to make a meal. John was always teasing him about his lack of ability. Paul didn't think he was really rubbish at cooking if it was just one item at a time he had to handle .. like .. boil an egg. He could do that. It was when there was an egg AND something AND something AND some .. yeah. You get the message.   
He could make a simple vegetarian stir fry though. After all, that had been his go to when he'd lived with George. Okay .. so George had, obviously, done most of the cooking, but on odd occasions Paul had prepared a pasta dish. Paul dunked the tea bag, dispensed with it into the bin, added milk to his mug and stirred. There was some good music on the radio. He began humming along. Now .. if he closed the door into the parlour and unlocked the back door .. not that he was going any where .. but if someone .. anyone .. if they should .. if he was ..  
Paul shook himself. What the fuck was he going on about? Nonetheless his eyes searched out the back door key hanging on it's hook on the side of the cupboard. It was escape. He had to be able to get out. Without stopping to analyse what he was doing or why, Paul took the key off the hook and hastily unlocked the back door, convinced all the time someone was breathing down his neck. He flung the door wide, letting in a blast of fresh March air that had a salty tinge to it. Paul stepped outside into the tiny back yard. No one ever came out here. Nothing to come out here for, really. No grass. No greenery. Just paving slabs and a few weeds. Endless roofs of houses all looking the same. Paul walked the few steps to the back gate that led to the entry where bins were kept. He breathed deep of the salty air and tried to rid himself of that spooky feeling. He wanted to be strong. He wanted to be strong for John. Jesus .. the guy surely couldn't be bothered with having a wimp for a boyfriend. Curling his fingers into fists, then relaxing them, then breathing deeply, Paul tried to calm his racing heart. Count. Count the ... roof tiles? No .. he couldn't see them. What about the paving slabs? Yup .. there were .. one, two .. Paul paced the tiny area. Well .. twenty six. So .. that didn't take long. Count. Count how .. how .. how many windows could he see? His feet travelling up and down the tiny back yard he counted the windows to his right, then to his left, then multiplied them, then divided, then worked out a percentage, then .. what next?

Maybe he could bring a stool out here? Sit outside and chop some vegetables? Yeah .. he could, couldn't he? The nights were getting so much lighter now. The clocks had moved forward. He would be able to sit outside, with a chopping board and a colander, and cut up .. things. Things for a meal. He made himself go back in the kitchen. There was no one in the kitchen. Of course there wasn't. He knew there wasn't. It still spooked him though. He gathered a chopping board, a colander and the sharp knife he'd been handling earlier.  
Now .. he needed to look in the fridge. There really wasn't anyone else in the kitchen, so there was no reason to worry about turning his back on everything while he hunted in the fridge for some items, because, after all, there was no one there .. there really wasn't. Paul drew a deep breath, and crouched down to peer inside the fridge. He wouldn't look over his shoulder. It was okay. The kitchen was empty .. wasn't it? Warily he threw a quick glance behind him, all the time chiding himself. Get a grip. Just .. get a grip. He secured a few tomatoes,a red onion, a couple of peppers and a large courgette. Excellent. Just what was needed. He could do this. He knew he could.

Paul carried a wooden stool out into the garden, placed the colander on the floor at his feet, perched on the stool with the board balanced on his thighs, and began chopping the vegetables up. The radio was on quite loud and carried easily into the backyard. Tip of tongue caught between his teeth, Paul concentrated fully on the job at hand. There was an element of determination too. He wanted to show John he could do it. He could make a meal. He'd cooked this once before, at George's, for John. He didn't have to make a mess of things. 

He slid his thumb over the sharp edge of the knife, clearing off the remnants of onion. It was like a darting shadow, the memory. There on the edge of reason. Paul frowned, and ran his thumb over the blade again. What was it? What had...? There was a rush of sound in his head. Like sudden static, blocking everything out. Gone as quickly as it came. He shook himself. Dumb ass. He scraped the onions into the colander and started on the courgette. Now this was so much easier to prepare.

John leaned on the door jamb watching him. Judging by how loud Paul had the radio on it wasn't a surprise Paul hadn't heard him arrive home. John was curious, but not unduly concerned. Sitting outside on a late March evening cutting up vegetables? Well .. he'd always known Paul was one on his own. There was probably some reason. A reason Paul would probably find difficult to explain, but that nonetheless was important to him. John watched him fondly. He loved to observe that intense concentration on his boyfriend's face. Now .. how to alert him to his arrival without scaring him shitless?

John cleared his throat. Paul never noticed.  
John knocked on the outside of the door.  
Paul froze, his face going white.  
Then he glanced up, saw John, and the colour rushed back into his cheeks.  
"John? You're .. you're early." Paul slid off the stool going straight into John's open arms.  
Fucking hell .. the lad was freezing. The weather wasn't that warm yet.  
John rubbed his arms vigorously. "Bloody hell, Paul, you're cold. I could ask you why you're choosing to work out here when we've a perfectly adequate kitchen, but I don't think I'll bother."  
Paul glanced up at John from under his eyelashes, relief flooding his face.  
"What y' doing anyroad up?"  
"Thought I'd start tea."  
John dramatically put his hand on his heart. "No way. I must be hearing things."  
Paul thumped John jokingly, and gathered up the colander and vegetables.  
"I'll come back in now you're home."  
John ignored that statement. It didn't bear thinking about.  
"How was your day?"  
"Oh great. Do you know one of the old ladies used to play the piano, and she had a go today. She was a bit rusty, but .. well, she said she'll have a go at doing some accompanying next time we do a concert."  
"There's gonna be another concert then?"  
"Uh huh" Paul placed everything on the counter, and picked up the knife again. It felt .. odd .. in his hands ..as if .. as if ..  
John saw Paul's eyes glaze. It happened so swiftly. He moved quickly over to him, and took the knife out of Paul's hands. He saw the hazel eyes slip back into focus, and open wide, startled. For a second Paul was lost. What had just happened?  
John glossed over it. "So, when's this concert gonna be?"  
Paul shook himself, almost like a dog shaking rain off it's coat. Concert?   
He looked questioningly at John. John quirked a smile and handed the knife back to Paul.  
"You said there was gonna be another concert. But, as you've not long had one, I guess it won't be yet."  
Paul felt as if someone had stamped on his thoughts, scattering them into many pieces. He couldn't collect them .. he didn't know where they'd gone.  
Paul took the knife off John and felt that weird shift again. As if the floor moved under his feet.   
He looked at the knife bemusedly. Why had John handed him this? He looked questioningly at John.   
"Why .. why have you given me this?"  
John went to laugh, then realised Paul was serious.  
Bloody petit mal again. It had been weeks since this had happened. What the fuck had prompted this one?  
John took the knife back from Paul, who had been holding it limply, as if it might bite. He placed it carefully on the counter before turning back to Paul, who was standing there looking lost.   
John gathered him into his arms, and after a moment's hesitation Paul leaned in. He was unsure. Something had just happened but he didn't know what .. and that made him nervous. He leaned his head onto John's shoulder and breathed in the man's scent. It helped to ground him. He drew in deep lungfuls of the smell of leather and wool and fresh salty air and John .. just John.  
John spoke softly into his ear, like a gentle murmur.  
"Why were you outside, Paul?"  
Why was he outside? Paul tried to remember.  
"Because .. because .. so I could get away."  
John kept a tight hold. It was scary sometimes trying to understand Paul.  
"Who did you want to get away from, love? There's no one here."  
Paul blinked, his lashes brushing the leather of John's jacket. It was an interesting sensation, so he tried it again, slowly. Who would have thought eyelashes could feel so much?  
The smoothness. The wrinkles.  
Silence.  
Had John asked him a question?  
He leaned more heavily against the strong figure. He felt safe.  
He also felt tired. Suddenly, overwhelmingly tired.  
He blinked again, searching for that amazing sensation, but this time his eyes stayed closed.  
John caught the sudden weight in his arms, that took him by surprise. "Fuck!"

Ritchie entered the room to the smell of vegetables frying and the sight of Paul, fast asleep on their settee. Interesting combination.  
"Hi, John .. smells good. What's with .. er? ..."   
"Hi Ritch. Paul? No idea .. he started the meal off and then sort of gave up." John didn't feel like explaining. Truth be told, he didn't know HOW to explain.  
Ritchie shrugged, accepting. "Oh, right. So. Veggie stir fry then?"  
"How d'you guess?"  
Ritchie grinned. "Well .. it's Paul's go to, innit."  
John grinned back.  
"And is Sleeping Beauty gonna wake up in time to eat?"  
It was harder this time to hang on to his smile. John shrugged, and turned back to stirring the vegetables.  
"Your guess is as good as mine, Ritch. When I came home he was sitting outside chopping vegetables."  
Ritchie paused in removing his coat. "Outside?" he queried.  
John nodded. "Yup .. outside. Fucking freezing he was. Then he gave me some bollocks about being outside so he could get away ..."  
"...away?.."  
"... and then he sort of .. went out .. y'know, how he does. Gone. Poof. Like a light. Summat's disturbed him, but I dunno what. I'm gonna hazard a guess it's coming back to an empty house. He seems to have a real thing about it. Anyway .. tea won't be long. Give him a shake, eh? On your way through, like."

Ritchie surveyed the slumbering figure. Seemed a shame to wake him.  
"Paul?"   
Paul rolled over, muttering something. He hugged the cushion as if it were the best thing in the world.  
"Paul, tea's nearly cooked. Y' gonna wake up?"   
One eye peeled open ... Ritchie couldn't see both eyes, as Paul had buried his head face down on the purple cushion, both hands stuffed underneath. This one eye surveyed Ritchie unblinkingly for quite a long time .. or so it seemed to Ritchie, who was conscious of the sound of John stirring vegetables in a sizzling pan. Finally Paul raised his head, a smile blossoming across his perfect features.  
"Hi Ritchie." The voice was husky from sleep but sounded pleased to see him.  
Ritchie responded with a big smile. "Hi Paul. Tea's nearly cooked. John asked me to wake you."  
Paul blinked, puzzled. "Wake me? What .. what time is it?"  
"It's nearly nine. I've been on a late shift, an' John's cooked the tea. He said you started it. Well, that you chopped the vegetables."  
"I did? I mean .. did I?" Paul uncurled to a sitting position, and ran his fingers through his tousled hair. "Oh."  
The "oh" was as far as the conversation went. Paul's gaze swung towards the kitchen. He had no recollection .. of the day, the time, what had gone on. He shifted, uncomfortable with his memory .. or lack of it. All he was conscious of was a full to bursting bladder. With a groan he rolled off the settee and headed in to the kitchen towards the bathroom. He eyed John suspiciously. Had he done anything stupid? Said anything stupid? Had he .. had he ..???  
But John just beamed at him. "Hi love. Nearly cooked. Hope you're hungry."  
Hungry? His stomach gave a loud rumble and John laughed. Paul laughed too. It was as if he'd orchestrated that response.  
He leaned in to John, ignoring the pressure of his bladder, and gave the man a hug.   
God, he loved John so much. So so much.

Their love making that night was tender as they took the time to enjoy each other, relishing the closeness. After, John wriggled comfortably onto his back, his right arm pulling Paul close to his side. Paul snuggled in tightly. An advantage of sharing a small bed .. he got to cling on to John. In the warm darkness he felt safe. He wished every moment of his life could be spent like this, enclosed in John's arms. Nothing else mattered. Safe. He gave a small sigh and felt John's arm tighten around him. Safe.

John's eyes began to close, and he was on that edge of sleep just before he tipped. He was conscious of Paul twiddling with his chest hair in the way that he did. Part of John's brain registered the fact Paul probably was not that tired, having had about three hours sleep downstairs earlier. He did hope the lad wouldn't start ...  
"John?"  
....talking. Fuck.  
"Johnny?"  
He felt the figure next to him move, the weight disappearing from his side. John kept his eyes screwed tightly shut. He was being watched. He knew he was. There was a loaded silence, and he could feel Paul's breath gusting over his face. Finally John opened his eyes to find Paul staring at him, only about two inches away from his face.  
John's lips twitched in a smile he tried to hide.  
"Yes, love?"  
Paul watched him for a moment, eyes round and dark, puzzled.  
"John, what happened?"  
John heaved a little sigh. Paul didn't need to clarify.  
"What can you remember?"  
Paul leaned on John's chest, his elbows digging into John's ribs.  
"I .. I can't remember anything."  
John absorbed Paul's reply. It was rare for Paul to openly admit these lapses. Usually he avoided talking about them. Although he was tired, and really wanted to sleep, nonetheless John internally acknowledged the fact that Paul was asking was a step forward. Even if it was .. he glanced at the clock ... five past twelve at night. And Paul was awake. And watching him. John gathered his thoughts together. He could tell Paul what had happened, but maybe ... with a bit of prompting ... Paul could recover that information for himself?  
Surely that would be better?  
"Can you remember coming home?"  
He saw Paul frown, then give a little nod.  
"Okay. Tell me about your journey home then."  
Paul's eyes widened at the unusual request, then John saw the concentration appear as a tiny furrow between Paul's eyebrows.  
"The bus was late. There was a little girl on it with her mum and she had a doughnut and she was getting jam all over herself."  
John listened seriously. However trivial the information Paul gave him it was an insight into how Paul's memory worked.  
"And? What about when you arrived home?"  
Blank. Paul shifted, a shadow crossing his face.  
"Anything, Paul? Unlocking the door? Finding your key? Any tiny thing?"  
It came like a flash. Post on the coconut mat just inside the door. He could see it like a picture postcard in his mind.  
"Post! There was post." He scrunched his face up, thinking. John resisted the temptation to kiss him. "There were two brown envelopes for Ritchie, one for you ... "  
"For me?" John was surprised. He'd not glanced at the shelf in the tiny hall as it usually just held circulars for Domino's Pizza and Indian takeaways.  
Paul nodded, serious. "Yeah. A white envelope, handwritten."  
The young man was quite definite on that. John ignored the temptation to go downstairs and see who it was from. He could feel Paul's eyes still fixed on him, analysing.  
"And a brown envelope for me."  
John glanced up at him. Paul coloured slightly, aware of his deficiency in this role. "I ..." he licked his lips nervously. "I left it for you to see."  
"What was it, Paul?"  
Paul chewed a fingernail before replying. "A hospital appointment. Not till June. Ages yet."  
"Did you make a note of the date?" It was an admonition. Paul felt it acutely. Felt the blood rush to his face. He shook his head.  
John rubbed his hands up and down Paul's arms. "You can keep a diary on your phone, you know. You don't need me to do that for you."  
Paul sank his head down onto John's chest and began twiddling with the few hairs. Too much too soon.  
John transferred his hands to Paul's back and ran comforting circles over the shoulder blades.  
"Okay. Never mind. What else can you remember?" John's voice was a conspiratorial whisper, inviting confidences.  
"I .. I can't. It all goes blank then." Paul's words were muffled into John's chest. He wanted to stop now. He didn't know what had happened after, only that he couldn't control it. Whatever 'it' was.  
John continued rubbing circles. Paul's skin was smooth, alabaster in the dark, familiar bony shoulder blades and knobbly spine under John's hands. He felt Paul's withdrawal, and quickly chased him. It was rare for Paul to open up or even query his lapses, and John wanted to see if there was a way of helping, assisting him through these times, and also, he was curious to find what triggered them. If they could just find out.....  
"Nothing?"  
Paul shrugged. Difficult to do when you're lying on top of someone. He felt John waiting for a more substantial response.  
"Just .. feelings."  
Well John hadn't expected that. "Feelings?"  
Paul nodded, his nose grazing John's chest, his hair in John's face, clinging on for dear life.  
"What kind of feelings?" John kept his voice to a whisper.  
That loss. That emptiness. That threat. Paul shook his head, his hair tickling John's nose.  
"Would it help if I tell you a few things? What I found when I came home?"  
Paul shot up suddenly, his eyes nervously scanning John's face. Had he? Had he done something stupid?  
John remained calm, ignoring Paul's abrupt movement.  
"When I came home you had the radio on in the kitchen. You had it on really loud. I could hear it from the front door."  
Radio? Paul often put the radio on. He loved music .. all the time, everywhere, whatever he was doing. Loud?  
"There was no one home."  
He surprised himself with those words. He hadn't meant to say them. He didn't know why he had. In fact .. had someone else spoken them?  
But John was still looking at him, and his lips hadn't moved. But there was understanding in those amber eyes.  
"You don't like an empty house."  
Paul blinked. He recalled another occasion when he'd fled the house, leaving the front door wide open, and had just ran. He felt so stupid.  
"It .. I .. the music .. " he subsided. It was to fill the space. The space that was otherwise filled with .. things.  
"It's okay, Paul. Not a problem. You put it on for company."  
Company, yeah. Paul latched on to the word. Company.  
"And you'd been outside chopping up vegetables for tea. I don't know why you went outside. Do you know?"  
Outside? Twenty six paving slabs. Thirty windows to the left if you stood looking at the house, but only nineteen to your right because you couldn't see so far. Nineteen was a difficult number to do anything with. Awkward to divide. But thirty was easy. Then you could play around with those numbers, multiplying, dividing, adding, subtracting.  
The figures tumbled through Paul's head. He'd never been keen on maths, had always preferred the art side of subjects, but counting things grounded him. If he became anxious. Adding up car number plates. Estimating how many grapes were in a plastic container. Working out how many people were on the bus and could they fit more in and if three got off could another ....  
"Paul?"  
Paul swallowed, suddenly pulled back.  
"Why did you go outside?"  
Because someone might trap me in the house? Because someone might lock me in? Because ... because ..  
Paul's fingers tightened in John's chest hair, and he could see the panic in Paul's eyes. He shifted the scenario quickly.  
"You were sitting outside chopping up vegetables. You decided to make tea."  
Paul's eyes were fixed on his, blank. No memory.  
John tried more detail.   
"You had taken the stool outside, and the colander, and the breadboard, and the knife with the .. ouch!!"  
John flinched as Paul's fingers suddenly tugged the chest hair tight, and John grabbed his fingers, loosening them.  
He realised by Paul's indrawn breath he'd just hit the nail on the head.  
More than that .. a cold chill deep inside him, like his blood turning to ice .. a knife .. Paul .. fucking hell, they could have had a disaster on their hands there.  
John's thought processes whirled at a million miles an hour. They'd underestimated Paul, hadn't they? Taken for granted certain things were okay. Christ, they should never have done that. John felt overwhelming relief and threw grateful thanks to whatever deity existed that he still had Paul safe here in his arms.   
He hugged the naked body tightly, surprising Paul with the passion with which he did so.  
"Jesus Christ, love. Maybe if you finish early again on a Thursday you should get a bus to the shop, eh?"  
Paul frowned, crushed by John's bear hold on him. "Shop?" he queried.  
John grit his teeth. There was no way he was letting Paul come back to an empty house again. If he had to plead with Rob on bended knee to cover for him.   
What it was about an empty house that spooked Paul so much he didn't know. And wasn't sure he really wanted to. And wasn't sure Paul could tell him anyway.  
But the knife? Shit! John vaguely recalled Ritchie mentioning something about George hiding all the knives when Paul had lived with him.   
The knife? Probably better not to ask. John loosened his hold, and Paul slid down to his usual place tucked under John's arm.  
"There are twenty six paving slabs in the back yard" he whispered to no one in particular.  
John frowned, disconcerted, his head full of knives and what may have been. "What?"  
Paul buried his head into John's armpit. "Twenty six. And thirty windows to your left but only nineteen to your right. The kitchen roofs block them out."  
John's frown deepened. Then realisation dawned. Counting. Paul's counting. So he could remember something from that evening then.  
John squeezed his arm encouragingly. "Thanks, Paul. I really needed to know that."  
He could feel the young man smile.  
He smiled too.  
But his heart was still beating rapidly. Visions of what could have been troubling his imagination.  
Tomorrow. Tomorrow he'd suggest to Ritchie they hide all the sharp knives somewhere.  
Just to be safe.


	27. Chapter 27

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A humorous moment as Paul and Mimi meet for the first time.

The sheets pooling around his waist, Paul sat up in bed sipping his tea, his eyes watching over the rim of his mug as John perused the white envelope that he'd carried upstairs with him. John had a frown on his face. A puzzled frown. Paul watched silently, curious as to who this letter could be from. John didn't seem in any rush to open it, but perched on the edge of the bed fiddling with it between his fingers.  
John did, however, look miles away. As if he was thinking. Remembering.

Paul wrapped his fingers more tightly around the mug and leaned back against the headboard. The slight shift in weight prompted John, and he turned and threw Paul a smile, as if he'd just remembered his presence. Paul smiled back, curiosity present in his gaze.

He didn't want to ask. He didn't want to appear nosy. He was only too aware that he was probably a demanding partner, and he really, really didn't want to give John cause to regret their relationship. Paul drew his legs up, resting the mug on the hump he'd managed to create. John made a good cup of tea. That morning cuppa ... brought to him in bed everyday .. it was to die for. He could hardly believe how his life had changed. He felt so lucky. Lucky to have John, and Ritchie, and George. He reached down and scratched his ankle, feeling the tag that was rubbing slightly. Another three months or so and it would be gone .. he hoped. The future beckoned, unwritten. A bit scary. But he felt hopeful, and that was good.

Finally .. finally John slid his finger under the stuck down flap and there was a tiny tearing sound as the envelope opened. He extricated what was just one sheet of white paper covered in spidery handwriting, and read it rapidly, his eyes scanning the whole page, then Paul watched his gaze return to the top of the letter and read again more slowly. His face gave nothing away.

Paul finished the last of his tea, and placed the mug down on the bedside table. Almost seven thirty the alarm said. And he needed a wee. And to get a shower. He felt very tacky. John's love making last night had been very ... driven. That was the only word Paul could think to describe it. Paul nibbled a forefinger, frowning slightly. He wondered why?  
Anyway .. the end result was he was very sweaty and really needed a shower. He extracted his finger from his mouth before John noticed and pulled him up on his habit of eating himself, and uncurled his legs, preparing to exit the bed.

"It's from my Auntie Mimi ..."   
Paul froze halfway through uncurling his legs. John sounded shocked.  
"..she wants to see me."  
Paul's brain whirled rapidly, trying to select the correct response. Should he be glad for John? Or commiserate? Or .. shit, what should he do?  
John turned to face him, surprise written all across his face, but he didn't look upset.  
Paul couldn't compute a correct response. "Oh!" he said, half in, half out of bed.  
John gave a puzzled smile.  
"Apparently she bumped into Stu .."  
A blank look crossed Paul's face, but John ignored it and plowed on.  
"... and he told her where I was living."  
There was a definite flash of green in Paul's eyes.  
"Stu knows your address?"  
John frowned. Odd that Paul should latch on to that fact rather than the fact Mimi had written to him after all this time.  
Or was it?  
"Well ... yeah. We do talk, y'know. Have talked."  
John had to hide a smile at the miffed look that crossed Paul's face.  
He grasped Paul around the wrist and tugged him, none too gently, towards him.  
"Stop it, Paul" he whispered softly into the dark hair. "You know you're the only one for me."  
Paul flushed, and wriggled in John's grip.  
"I didn't say anything" he protested.  
"You don't have to .. it's written all over your face" John quipped.  
Embarrassed, Paul tried to turn the conversation. "Why does your aunt want to see you?"  
It worked. Distracted, John let go of Paul and shrugged. "Dunno. Just that it would be nice to make contact again. She said Stu told her I have a significant other in my life and she'd like to meet us. Both of us."  
It took a moment for Paul to work that out. Significant other. He was a significant other? Stu ... Stu had actually described him, Paul, as a significant other?   
A smile blossomed over Paul's face. "That's nice" he said.   
John wasn't sure if Paul was referring to meeting Mimi or being referred to as a significant other, but assumed it was probably the latter.  
He hummed, running his thumb up Paul's forearm.  
Could he take Paul to meet Mimi? How on earth would Paul fare?  
He'd be scrutinised. Judged.   
She had an acidic tongue on her. John was told he took after her in that respect.  
In fact, he mused, continuing to rub circles up and down Paul's arm, they probably were alike.  
Undoubtedly so.  
He was brought back to the present by Paul squirming uncomfortably.  
"John?"  
"Hmm?"  
"I really need a pee."

While Paul was in the shower John showed the letter to Ritchie.  
"Oh!" His response was the same as Paul's. Which way did he play this?  
"Are you .. pleased?"  
John frowned. "I dunno, Ritch. Surprised, more than anything. And curious. Wondering if she has an ulterior motive."  
"When did you last see her?"  
John searched his memory. It had been years. God, so many years.  
"Can't remember. Must be .. " he mentally tried to count up " ... six years ago, at least. Possibly more."  
"And will you go?"  
John's mouth twitched wryly. "Haven't made me mind up yet." Inside, he knew he would. He couldn't resist. She was, after all, family. And he didn't have many of them. And what was more, in her own way, she'd loved him. He knew that. Even if she'd wrapped that love under a dragon like exterior. The question was, more ... did he take Paul?  
The shower was heard to switch off. John started, brought out of his reverie.  
He had something much more urgent on his mind.  
"Ritchie?"  
"Hmm?"  
"We need to hide the sharp knives somewhere. Somewhere safe."  
Ritchie's eyebrows disappeared up under his fringe. "What?"  
The lock on the bathroom door clicked.  
"Tell y' later" John hissed.

John liked Friday's ... normally. It was always a busy day at the shop with that undefinable weekend feel as Saturday approached. Despite the fact they both worked on a Saturday too. But today his mind was taken up with that letter. And the conundrum. Did he take Paul? Didn't he? And if he went and left Paul behind ... he glanced over at his partner who was merrily humming Disney tunes as he worked ... Disney tunes???? ... how would Paul take that? Would he be upset?

Paul handed him a mug of tea, presented with a beaming smile.  
"So, John, when we go to see your auntie should we take her some flowers?"  
John gulped, choked on the hot tea, and Paul's smile turned to a frown as he thumped John on the back. A few splashes of tea landed on the floor.  
Well, it looked like the decision was out of John's hands.

And so, here they were on a bright, windy Sunday afternoon, standing at the door of a ... to Paul, anyway, ... rather majestic semi-detached property on the outskirts of Liverpool.  
John had scrubbed up well, and replaced his normal leather with a reasonably smart coat, although he still wore, defiantly, a striped beanie hat and matching scarf. Although he recalled, as he fingered the edge of the scarf thoughtfully, his aunt had actually made this for him. So, maybe, somewhere, deep down ....  
Paul stood beside him, shuffling his feet nervously. He hadn't realised John came from such a posh background.  
He was also alarmingly close to his own house. If his dad still lived there.   
So all this time of growing up they'd been just a brisk walk or cycle distance away from each other.  
Although Paul's dad's council house on the Mather Avenue Estate didn't even begin to compare with this property.  
Paul unconsciously squirmed nearer to John as he anxiously checked the toes of his polished shoes and picked odd pieces of lint off his dark coat.  
He puffed out a sigh. He was hot. But he only had this coat. It was smart. John always said he looked smart in it. A navy overcoat. But God, he was hot. He made a mental note to buy himself some outer wear more suitable for the warmer weather that was, hopefully, coming their way, and clutched tighter onto the bouquet of flowers that he was gripping because John ... well, John wouldn't carry them. Paul heaved another little sigh, and tried to calm the butterflies that had begun to take flight inside him.  
He shouldn't have come. He shouldn't have come. He should have stayed home and done that arrangement for the choir, and tidied their room, and done the ironing because John wouldn't think to, and there were still twenty six paving slabs in their backyard, and he could see .. one, two, three, four, five, six trees at the back of the property, and if you counted ....  
Paul visibly jumped as the front door of the porch was opened to them, and a woman, uncannily like John, was looking at him. Perusing him. Unsmiling.  
Oh God.  
Paul shrank into John's side, and felt John grip him by the arm.  
"Hi Mimi. We've come. This is Paul."  
No, no, no it isn't. I'm not. John, no ...  
Paul felt himself pushed forward for inspection.  
Truth be told, John hadn't really pushed Paul forward, but he had sensed the immovability of the young man beside him, and given him a little nudge.  
John winced. Poor kid, to be put under this scrutiny. He could feel Paul squirm.  
Mimi's face offered a semblance of a smile, although the eyes remained cold. Fixed on Paul.  
She stood to one side and held the door open.  
"Well, come in, then, before the house freezes."  
John hid a smile. That was just so Mimi.  
"And don't forget to wipe your feet."  
John propelled Paul by the elbow. The young man seemed to have lost his voice and all sense of movement without prompting.   
John steered him into the parlour with the big bay window that looked out across a small garden and hedge to the road beyond.  
On the coffee table were cakes ... dainty little things on a cakestand that John recalled had been in the family for generations. Three cups and saucers, milk jug and sugar with apostle teaspoons had also been placed on a tray, but not the teapot. The tea, John rightly guessed, had yet to be made. The sunshine, streaming in through the window, bathed everything in the room in a soft golden light, and that smell ... John breathed deeply. It took him straight back to his childhood. Furniture polish and flowers and books.

He heard a small murmur behind him, and swiftly turned to Paul, who was looking anxious. John tried to reassure him with a smile just as his aunt entered the room behind them.  
"I'll put the kettle on. I assume you do drink tea?"  
This was directed at Paul who gazed at her in fright. Even if he hadn't drunk tea he would not have dared say so.  
John came to his rescue. "Yes, he does ... and these are for you." John propelled Paul's arm, holding the flowers, into the air towards Mimi.  
She halted, frowning at Paul, who met her stare with unblinking eyes. John was only too familiar with Paul's wide eyed Bambi pose, but Mimi was unsure as what to make of this mute partner her nephew had acquired. She reached forward and plucked the bouquet from Paul's hands.  
"Thank you, dear".  
It didn't sound like a 'dear' to Paul. She sounded quite haughty. Very haughty.  
Paul wanted to go home.  
Yes. Home. That was what he'd decided.  
But before he could move towards the front door John grabbed his arm and pulled him down onto the settee beside him.  
Paul landed heavily, and the tray on the coffee table jiggled.  
Mimi frowned. "You can take your coats off. You know where to hang them, John" and swept out of the room in the direction of the kitchen.  
John stood up again, removing his coat, and indicated to Paul to do the same. Reluctantly, Paul shimmied out of his coat and passed it to John, who went back into the hall to hang the coats in the lobby. He could hear his aunt filling the kettle, the hiss of the tap, and he turned to find Paul was right behind him, having followed him back out of the parlour.  
In fact, Paul was right on his heels. Still looking as if he'd been struck with stage fright. Poor guy, John mused. He probably has. Mimi tended to have that effect on most people.  
"Y'okay?"  
Paul nodded, but didn't look very enthusiastic.  
"Let's go sit back down, eh?"  
Paul gazed at John with wide eyes.   
"You'll be okay. It'll be okay." John tugged Paul by the forearm and with reluctant steps he followed John back into the parlour, resuming his place at John's side.  
John could feel the waves of panic emanating from the silent figure.  
Distract him. Hmm. How? John glanced around the familiar room. Nothing had changed.  
"Look" he gestured to a small framed photo on the mantelpiece. "That's me at about six years old. Have I altered?"  
He wiggled his eyebrows at Paul, and was rewarded with the semblance of a smile.  
He placed his hand comfortingly on Paul's knee and whispered "Her bark is far worse than her bite. Don't let her fool you."  
As John finished uttering the sentence Mimi swept into the parlour carrying a teapot. John moved his hand quickly, as if burnt. He wasn't too confident about displaying open affection in front of his aunt. After all, she didn't do that. Not to anyone. Not to any sex, either. Nor children. Or animals. Oh fuck.  
John darted up to make room on the table for the teapot and Mimi gave him a curt 'thank you'.  
Her sharp glance was directed at Paul, who was still staring at her with unblinking eyes, as if mesmerised.  
"How do you take your tea, Paul?" she enquired.  
He turned to throw John a mute appeal, but John raised his eyebrows, indicating Paul should respond.  
Paul turned back to look at this terrifying woman and squeaked.  
Well ... there was no other word for it .. it was a definite squeak.  
John looked at him in astonishment. How had he done that?  
Paul swallowed nervously.  
He wanted to go home.  
He loved John but he didn't want to be here after all.  
Yes. He was definite on that.  
He jumped as he felt John's hand land heavily on his thigh, grounding him.  
"Paul, are you okay?"

Teapot in hand, Mimi observed the scene in front of her.  
"Does he have difficulties, John?" Her voice was neutral, as if enquiring about the weather. Or the state of one's garden.  
John gave Paul's thigh a squeeze and he jumped again.   
He was fucking this up, wasn't he? He knew he was. But he felt as if someone had blanketed all his senses in cotton wool and he couldn't react.  
His eyes, fixed on John's, held a mute appeal.  
Then John winked at him.  
It was slow and deliberate and held a hint of mischief.  
Paul let out a breath.  
"Tell my aunt how you like your tea, Paul."  
Paul's eyes swung back to see the dragon .. no, sorry .. woman watching him.  
Mimi, he reminded himself. This was Mimi. She must be okay because she's part of John.  
He took another deep breath. Pushed the words out. "Milk and sugar, please."  
John patted his thigh reassuringly.   
Even Mimi breathed a sigh of relief. This could be a long afternoon otherwise.  
"How many?"  
Paul's heart fell. How many? How many what? Teas? Cups? Sugars? Milk?  
"There's twenty six paving slabs." He didn't know where that had come from.  
A weighted silence fell.  
Mimi looked at him in astonishment.  
He squirmed uncomfortably. That hadn't been the correct response, had it?  
No. Of course it hadn't.  
He felt John's hand squeeze his thigh again.  
"I think Mimi is referring to sugars, Paul". John's voice was droll. Paul could see the twinkle in John's eyes and the laughter that was struggling to be contained.  
"Oh!"   
He forced himself to meet Mimi's narrowed eyes that were assessing him and, probably understandably, finding him wanting.  
"Er .. two .. no, sorry, one .. no, it doesn't matter, I don't mind .. I don't always have sugar .. well, it just tends to be how people pass it to me and I drink it however it comes...I really don't mind .. I'm not fussy .. honest ..." Paul flopped back against the cushions of the settee and began chewing his thumbnail as if his life depended on it.  
Mimi was still poised with the teapot above the cup, completely confounded.  
She swung her gaze to John who just looked blandly at her and gave a shrug.  
"Just pour him a cup, Mimi. Don't bother asking."  
John would have given anything to be a fly on the wall at the moment observing this comedic scene.  
And they'd only been here ... he gave a surreptitious glance at his watch ... about ten minutes.  
Oooh ... this could be a long afternoon.  
Little did he know Mimi was thinking the same.

Paul took the proffered cup and saucer from Mimi with a murmured thank you. He'd been so alarmed by the gibberish that had spewed from his mouth he'd now clammed up again. The cup rattled ominously in the saucer. It had been firmly placed in his right hand and it rattled even more as he transferred it to his left. In fact the only sound Paul could hear was the cup rattling. And the more he tried to hold it firm the more noise it made. He felt John shoot him a glance. Oh Christ. He really was fucking this up, wasn't he?

"So, John, how is work going?" Mimi straightened her skirt as she sat down, tea perfectly balanced in her right hand ... not rattling, Paul noted. Ouch.  
Through a mouthful of cake John mumbled a reply, and then nudged Paul with his knee indicating the sponges.  
"Have one, Macca, they're good."  
Paul didn't think he could. He didn't think he could handle it. He'd drop it. Spill crumbs. He didn't have enough hands to ...  
"Macca?" enquired Mimi. There was genuine curiosity in her voice.  
John grinned. "A nickname." He swallowed noisily, ignoring Mimi's frown. "Work's good, yeah. We're busy. Paul teaches too so .." John saw Mimi's eyes widen at that comment. He knew they would. Teaching, yeah. Something she understood. It brought respect. She levelled a direct look at Paul.  
"You teach?"  
Paul's cup rattled even more. Oh God did he have to answer her? He opened his mouth to say something, reminding himself not to mention paving slabs, but John leapt in first.  
"He runs a choir too ... at the Willows out at Sefton Park. Just done a concert, haven't you?"  
Mimi was ... delighted? ... she thought ... and ... suspicious??? This lad didn't look capable of running anything ... other than a disaster.  
John took a gulp of his tea, finishing the dainty cupful in one swallow. "Piano. He plays piano. And guitar. And he can sing."  
Paul was slowly turning a shade of pink.  
"He also does the accounts for the shop. Got any more tea, Mimi? That tiny cup hardly dampens me throat."  
Mimi blinked. "MY throat, John. Not me!! Yes, of course. What about your little friend?"  
Paul found two pairs of eyes fixed enquiringly on him and he buttoned his lips tight. He wasn't going to say anything else. No, definitely not. What came out wasn't always what he intended. He shook his head vigorously and the cup rattled even more.  
"I, er, I think he's okay." He looked closely at Paul. "Are you okay??" There was a teasing tone to John's voice. Paul blinked slowly.  
"Is he always this quiet?" Mimi enquired.  
She was not prepared for the guffaw of laughter that erupted from John.  
"Quiet? Paul? You must be joking. Normally you'd need gaffa tape to shut him up."  
She looked most disbelieving.

"So?"  
Paul switched his gaze from the window of the bus to John who sat beside him. His eyes scanned John's face, noting the twitch of amusement that hovered around John's lips.  
"So what, John?" Paul refused to be drawn.  
Okay, he'd fucked up. He knew he had. It had been a series of disasters. Particularly when he'd got up to help carry the tea tray into the kitchen, hoping to redeem himself in the eyes of Mimi, and had promptly tripped over the leg of the coffee table, sending china, tea, milk and sugar cascading all across the floor.  
Mimi had told him, in no uncertain terms, to SIT DOWN and STAY STILL and DON'T MOVE. The words had been ingrained in capital letters in Paul's head.  
"So? What do you think? Of Mimi?"  
Paul gave an involuntary shudder. "She's scary."  
It was truthful. God knows what she'd thought of him. She probably thought John was going out with an imbecile.  
Paul turned to look out the window again. He was annoyed with himself. Annoyed that he'd not been able to hold himself together.   
He'd wanted to handle this properly for John. Christ, he was supposed to be the 'significant other'.  
Mimi must think John had made terrible lifestyle choices.  
Paul's middle finger made it's way into his mouth and he began gnawing at it, his dark eyes clouded.  
Then John's hand reached around and tugged it from his mouth.  
Their eyes met. A smile danced across John's face.  
"Well, you've definitely given her something to talk about. I bet she's not had that much fun for ages."  
Paul nudged John. "Stop it."  
"Twenty six paving slabs?"  
Paul squirmed.  
"Well, where did that come from, eh?"  
Paul's face flooded with colour. "I dunno."  
John chuckled, and squeezed Paul's fingers tightly.  
"Well, she must have liked you ... at least a little bit."  
Paul looked at him, disbelief in his eyes. "How? How d'you figure that one out?"  
John shrugged. "She said for us to go again, and maybe stop for tea. Once she's had time to recover from this visit."  
Paul gaped at him. "Honest?"  
John nodded. "Honest. You weren't listening, were you? Eh?"

Paul hadn't been able to get out of the house quickly enough.  
He'd nervously stammered his thanks to Mimi for the tea and cakes ... even if he'd been too nervous to eat any. Conscious all the time of her piercing eyes, so like John's, upon him. Surely she'd found him lacking in social skills. After all, he was nothing, Luke's voice intervened. No one. Not of any importance.   
John had grasped him around the waist and given him a hug.  
"My significant other" he'd whispered into Paul's ear, as they waited for the bus.  
Paul leaned in to John's hug and mentally told Luke to fuck off.

Ritchie had looked up at their entrance. "How'd it go?"  
A smile split John's face from ear to ear.  
"D'you really wanna know?"  
Paul battered John over the head with a paperback novel that was lying around.  
"Don't you dare, Lennon, don't you dare."

******************************************************

George's eyes twinkled with suppressed mirth. "He said what?"  
John could hardly keep his voice straight, his pint splashing everywhere as he shook with laughter.  
"He .. he said ... " John wiped a streaming tear from his eye, collapsing in giggles " .. said .. twenty six .. p ... p ... paving slabs."  
John guffawed loudly, and George joined in.  
Heads turned to look at the two young men who'd dissolved into a puddle of hilarity, their own lips twitching with smiles and laughter.  
"Ooh .. hoo ..hooo" George couldn't contain his mirth.   
"An' ..and Mimi .. she's there ... teapot poised .. doesn't know what the fuck to make of this."  
They roared with laughter again, and a few other customers couldn't help but join in. Their laughter was infectious.  
John mopped his eyes with the edge of his scarf. "Paul .. he sat there like .. what have I just said???"  
George shook his head. "Poor lad. He must have been traumatised."  
"Petrified, more like. Oh .. oh dear." John drew a deep breath and licked the drops of spilt beer off his fingers.  
"It was so funny. The best comedy show ever."  
"You had a good time then?"  
John rolled his eyes. "I reckon Mimi's still trying to work out what happened. I think she's got Paul nailed as a special case. Anyway ..." John took a few more calming breaths " she must have liked him because she's asked us to go for tea one Sunday. Must have made some kind of impression."  
George shook his head. "Thing is ... Paul's often funny without trying to be. He doesn't know he's doing it, half the time. Y'know .. the odd things he comes out with. How's the care home part of the sentence going?"  
"Good, yeah. Good. He loves doing that." John glanced at his watch. "He's probably home by now. I told him I was gonna be a bit late 'cos I was gonna meet you for a drink, an' I know Ritchie will be home. Just trying to encourage him to .. do a few bits on his own, really. Try and convince him he doesn't need me holding his hand all the time."  
George nodded. "Me mam keeps asking about him. She'd love to see him. I've been trying to think of a way to get him there without him feeling too put on the spot, y'know. He's still totally embarrassed about how he behaved the other Christmas an' every time I suggest a visit he just blanks off. I thought about trying to get him there by inviting both of you. You've never met me mam. She's an amazing cook."  
"Must be who you take after."  
George shrugged modestly. "Dunno. But, if I sort it, would you come? Y'know .. bring Paul? It'd make her day. I, er .. I told her a bit about what had happened. Not much, just enough so she knows not to go and put her foot in it. She really wants to see him. She used to dote on Paul. He was like another member of the family when we were young."  
"When you were young? Eh, mate, you're only twenty two now."  
George grinned. "Yeah, y'know what I mean."  
"Yeah, we'd come, y'know that. Happy to."  
George took a deep swig of his beer. "Ta. Much appreciated."

John unlocked the front door and stepped into the tiny hallway, breathing deeply of the familiar smells. Over the few years he'd been living there he'd really come to regard this place as home. He realised, with a jolt, that leaving would be a bigger lurch than he'd thought.  
He pulled his beanie off and ruffled his hair, staring at himself in the mirror. Another seven weeks and Ritchie would be married. What a roller coaster year they'd all had. Hopefully they were now looking forward to better times. John twisted a tuft of his hair, straightening it with a forefinger, and rubbed a smudge off his face. He smiled thoughtfully at the reminiscences he'd shared with George about Paul's meeting with Mimi. God but he could live on teasing Paul about that for the next few weeks.  
He kicked his shoes off and slung his coat in the lobby.  
"I'm home" he called to no one in particular.  
Before he could blink the door from the parlour was flung open and Paul was there, all smiles.  
John was conscious of a satisfying warmth that spread through his whole body as Paul's arms enveloped him in a tight hug.  
Life was good.

 

 

 

.


	28. Chapter 28

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Payback time for John

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a short chapter. Thanks for all the comments. Keep 'em coming!!

Paul wasn't sure how to cope with John's ribbing. He'd always hated being teased, even as a little boy. He tried ignoring John, but that didn't work. Pretended he'd not heard him. Put on a blank mask. Nope. No good. Twenty six paving slabs was going down in history.  
Paul tried humming under his breath. John just watched him with an amused smirk playing around his mouth.

"How many E.P.'s have we got in at the moment, Paul? Twenty six?" John innocently enquired.  
Paul ignored him. John raised his voice a little more.  
Rob glanced across at them both. What on earth was John going on about?  
He sensed the discomfiture of the younger man and decided to step in.  
"Why d'you wanna know how many E.P.'s we've got, John?"  
John jumped, startled. He hadn't realised Rob had entered the shop.  
"Oh .. no reason. It's just an in-joke, that's all."  
The look Paul threw John across the shop it was anything but a joke. God, that lad could send daggers when he put his mind to it.  
Rob stepped in front of John. "Listen .. tomorrow I'm going to a record fair that's being held over Southport way. Got anything I particularly need to look out for?"

Paul had half an ear to the conversation as he finished tidying up the teaching room. He was mightily glad of Rob appearing when he did, otherwise he might just have thrown something at John. If John dared to mention his faux pas at Mimi's one more time he'd scream.

He paused in the act of folding down a music stand, his mind drifting. Why on earth had he mentioned paving slabs? Why paving slabs? It must have been something to do with the backyard of Ritchie's little house. He had a vague memory of counting them, but no idea why he had. Something about windows seemed to be linked in there too. He searched his memory but couldn't pin anything down. Unfortunately. He shrugged and carried on folding the stand up. He wished he knew why he did certain things. Like .. count. It was almost an obsession .. something he did when he was bored. To just count anything that came into view. He could have told Rob, if asked, which he wouldn't, of course, because he had no reason to, after all, that there were ninety four shelves in the shop. Paul buttoned his mouth tight. He certainly wasn't going to tell John that!!

He heard Rob giving a few last minute details to John. Sounded as if there would be an influx of new records for him, Paul, to catalogue on Monday then. That would be good. He liked doing things. Liked being busy. Boredom was, to Paul, one of the worst things that could happen to him. His eyes glazed slightly as he recalled being locked in a room, nothing to do. Absolutely nothing. It had almost driven him mad. He'd counted everything in sight so many times over then. Played with numbers until his head had burst. If only he'd been allowed something to do. A book to read. A guitar to play. Anything. Instead he'd chewed his fingers until they'd bled. Slowly going out of his mind with boredom.

"Have a good weekend, Paul. See you Monday."  
Paul started, and stammered his goodbye's to Rob.  
Almost closing time. He began to hum the song of the same words under his breath, then began singing it out loud as he swept his folders into a tidy pile.   
The hands of the clock in the little shop moved slowly up to five. Paul heard John emptying the till of the cash before locking it into the safe.  
Sunday. Nearly Sunday. Paul stretched his arms above his head, relishing the feel of muscles relaxing. Maybe they could go to the park tomorrow. Maybe even take a row boat out if the weather was good. As long as John didn't mention fucking paving slabs again.

John popped his head round the door of the teaching room.  
"Come on, then, Paulie. Closing time. Let's head home an' have a beer, eh, to celebrate."  
Paul's smile grew. "Sounds good."  
"And I promise I won't mention ..."  
Paul leapt on him, beating him round the head with a cardboard folder.

John blew on his hands to warm them, conscious of the sound of Paul locking up the shop behind him. The wind was quite chilly, and his fingers felt numb. John's mind had switched off, in that comfortable lull of work having just finished and the prospect of a lazy Sunday, no commitments, ahead of him. He felt the weight of any responsibility slide off him as he dallied. A few last moment shoppers across the street at the Polish supermarket, but other than that the street was quiet. If they hurried they'd make the earlier bus.

He was almost knocked off his feet by someone barrelling into him, bringing him out of his stupor. Dazedly he'd thought it was Paul, fooling around, then realised a pair of narrowed eyes were inches away from his face. As he staggered, trying to keep his balance, summoning his wits quickly, he became aware of two guys surrounding him before he was pushed violently backwards, and his head collided with a sickening thud against the wall. Pain shot through his skull, and from fast fading vision he caught a flash of navy blue move swiftly by him in a blur. Some logical part of his brain, unconnected to the pain, registered it was Paul's coat, then blackness overtook him.

**************************************************************************

The first thing John was conscious of was the hammering in his skull. He felt as if all the dwarves of Middle Earth were building and drilling and mining inside his head.  
He groaned.   
A voice whispered.  
Someone took his hand, squeezing the fingers gently.  
"Jesus Christ, my fucking head" he said. The words pounded in his skull. Had he said them out loud?  
At the moment all he could feel was the pain in his head and someone holding his hand.  
It was as if the rest of his body did not exist. Just his head and his hand.   
Eyes screwed tightly shut, he struggled to assess the situation. Like ... where was the rest of his body?  
Legs. Feet. He wiggled. Yes, he still had them. He was lying down. Well, at least he thought he was.   
He moved the hand that wasn't being held and could feel cotton. Cotton sheets.  
Ah .. so he was in bed.   
Was it a hangover? A really, really, really bad hangover?  
He got the feeling it wasn't. He had a feeling he should be worried. Why?  
Paul.   
Paul?  
Summoning every ounce of energy he had he forced his eyes open.  
Inches away from his face, staring with unblinking hazel eyes, was the man he was thinking of.  
He saw the eyes widen as he met the gaze. There was worry in them.  
There shouldn't be. He didn't want Paul to worry. No, not ever.  
He wanted him to be happy.  
Jesus, that light was bright.  
He closed his eyes again.  
It had been Paul, hadn't it? Not some stupid vision.  
He forced them open again.  
"Paul?" he croaked.  
That same pair of hazel eyes was still watching him. Jeez, this guy had a beautiful face. Even if it was etched with worry.  
"Johnny?"  
And voice. Like an angel, he was. An angel?  
Fuck!  
John shot up in bed and his head pounded and the room spun around.  
He flopped back down, but was suddenly, alarmingly, overwhelmingly ... awake.  
Paul was there, at his bedside, holding his hand. And he could see Ritchie, and George, and Trevor, and Steve .. and ..   
... he gazed at them all in bewilderment, then swung his eyes back to Paul.  
Who had a bruise on his cheekbone and a red graze running down to his lips, and .. he looked worried. So worried.  
"Hey .. hey, I'm alright." John wanted to reach out and comfort him.  
He saw George move behind Paul, and hug his shoulders. John felt overwhelming relief that George was there.  
Good old George. Well, young George really. Rock of ages, cleft for me, let me hide ...  
John closed his eyes again.

"Come on, Paul" George said softly "He'll be fine. Come on, you need some rest."  
Paul's lips tightened as he shook his head. This was his fault. This was the payback for the other weekend at that fucking art exhibition.  
He knew they wouldn't let it go. He'd tried to tell John. Now this had happened. And John was hurt. His John. His beautiful John.  
Paul swallowed down his grief. He wasn't moving. He wasn't going anywhere.  
Behind him he could hear murmurings. He knew that they were planning things between them. Planning to get him to leave. To go home.  
He determinedly gripped tighter onto John's hand and focused all his attention onto the prone figure lying in the hospital bed whose head was swathed in an enormous bandage.   
Concussion, they'd said. The scan had not shown any brain damage. No fractures. John must have a thick skull.  
Paul's heart had not yet stopped it's rapid beating from the moment those two guys had zeroed in on John.   
Another hand squeezed his shoulder.  
It was Ritchie. "Paul, come on, love. You need to rest as well. John's in good hands."  
He didn't turn to acknowledge Ritchie, just gave another firm shake of his head.  
He wasn't going any where. No. No way.  
He could hear another whispered conversation going on behind him.  
Then Steve's voice. Steve? Why was Steve here? Was it because he was out after his curfew?  
Paul realised he should be home, but .. he gripped even tighter to John, feeling the knuckles under his grip.  
"Paul, we need to take you home."  
Paul closed his eyes. If he couldn't see his probation officer then he couldn't acknowledge him.  
"Are any of you able to stay with Paul tomorrow?" He heard Steve ask.  
Paul heard the voices of George and Ritchie reply ... and another voice. He knew that voice. Who must have arrived while he'd been holding a silent vigil by John's bed. Stu.  
"I don't mind staying with Paul, if I can be of any help. I feel partly responsible anyway."  
A pair of arms suddenly encircled Paul, lifting him. He held onto John's hand, pulling the still figure sideways on the bed.  
"Paul, let go. You'll have him off the bed at this rate."  
Paul didn't. He dug his feet in and braced himself against the onslaught.  
But there was more than one. Somebody prised his fingers off John's hand. Someone else tugged him away from the chair he was hanging onto.  
Then arms went round him. He could smell spices and warmth and ... he gripped onto the arms that were encircling him.  
"Paul, come home with me, eh? Just for the night. I promise I'll bring you back here first thing." George's voice was quiet into Paul's ear. He angrily swiped away tears that he could feel running down his cheeks, and winced as his hand brushed the angry bruise. "You'll be able to see Gandhi, and I'll fix us something to eat, and you can sleep with me if you like, or have your old bed back for the night. Whatever you want. Whatever you want, love." George continued in a soft murmur.  
Paul sank his head on his old friend's shoulders. He was tired. So tired.  
"I'll get a car to take you back, okay?" Steve said. "I need to inform the tag team as well where Paul is. I'll give you my mobile number so that you can let me know what time you're heading back in tomorrow." There was a pause, then .."Will you be okay with him?"  
George nodded. "We'll be fine. I've looked after him before."  
"He's probably in a state of shock."  
"I'll cope."

Paul slumped down on the settee of George's flat, absent mindedly stroking the cat who'd landed on his lap. In the kitchen he could hear the sound of pots and pans being banged around as George began to rustle up a meal for them. Paul's eyes flickered to the clock. It was just after ten. If any one had asked him the time he would have had no idea. He'd lost complete track of it while at the hospital.  
"I'm just gonna do us a bit of rice and vegetables. Okay?" he heard George call from the kitchen.  
Paul chewed his thumbnail.  
John could have been killed.  
Maybe that's what they'd planned.  
Just like they'd tried to write him off.  
"Paul?"  
Paul started to find George squatting down in front of him.  
"It's not your fault, y'know."  
How did George know what he was thinking?  
Paul blinked, disbelief written plainly across his face.  
George observed the bruise, the scrape down the side of Paul's cheek.  
"Does it hurt?"  
Paul shrugged. The thumb went back into his mouth. He closed off.  
"Don't do this, Paul."  
His eyes widened, fixing on George, who reached forward and tugged the thumb out of Paul's mouth.  
"John wouldn't want you to blame yourself. To shut yourself off. You've got to be strong for him. You can do it. I know you can. Now .... I'm doing us some food ..."  
"...I'm not hungry ..." Paul mumbled.  
George ignored him. "And you are going to eat. Then we are going to bed, and when you wake in the morning you can get a shower and we'll head back into the hospital. Right?"  
George softened his voice, smoothing his thumb across the grazed knuckles. "Right?"  
Paul nodded, submitting. "Okay."

It took George back in time, to have Paul sharing his bed, clinging on to his pyjama top with desperate fingers. George prayed that this incident wouldn't reverse Paul's progress. He'd been doing so well. George could feel the tiny shifts of movement throughout the night, the infinitesimal murmurs of sound. George barely slept. He was wired to every sound and move Paul made in case ... just in case ...just in ...

He woke with a jerk, and shot up in bed. The space next to him was empty. George's heart leapt to his throat. Fuck. Fuck, fuck. He'd fallen asleep after all. Christ, Paul .. where was he? George swung his legs out of bed, panicking. He'd forgotten how stressful looking after Paul could be. That worry. Always that worry. He flung open his bedroom door and halted. Astonished. Relieved.  
Paul looked round at him in surprise, a tentative smile breaking out. In the absence of any clothes he'd slung a brightly coloured red throw around his shoulders, and he was standing in the tiny kitchen making a cup of tea. Two mugs, George could see, on the side. George let out an enormous breath.  
"Paul! I .. I woke, and .."  
Paul raised a perfectly arched eyebrow. "I'm making us a drink" he explained. "You were asleep and .. and .. " Paul faltered, the spoon in his hand. John always made him a drink. Always. Every morning. Ever since they'd been together. He could probably count on the fingers of one hand the number of times John hadn't made him one.  
George moved swiftly to his side. "That's fantastic, mate. Just what I need. Did you sleep okay?"  
Paul nodded, still looking at the spoon he held. "Yeah, thanks. George ..." he swung round to meet the gaze of his oldest friend " when can we go back? John's gonna be alright, isn't he?"  
"He'll be fine. There's nothing wrong that a few days rest won't cure. It's only just turned seven and I don't think they'd appreciate us arriving just yet, but I'll ring and find out when we can go. How's that?"  
Paul sucked his lower lip while he twiddled the spoon in his fingers. He missed John. As in really missed him. Finally he nodded.  
George patted Paul's shoulder. "We'll have breakfast, eh? And you can get a shower. I'll find some clean clothes for you .. if you don't mind borrowing, that is."  
A small smile graced Paul's lips. "No. I don't mind. It'll be like old times, won't it?"  
Old times? George took the mug off Paul and sipped the tea. Hopefully not.

**************************************************************

The hammers pounding in John's skull had lessened off. He was now bored and wanted home. He missed Paul.  
He halted, surprised at the unbidden thought. Yes, he did. He did miss Paul. He'd spent the last year or so being Paul's anchor, but now he realised, with a sudden bump, that this relationship worked two ways. He missed Paul and wanted .... no, needed ... him there. It was as if part of him was missing. He leaned back against the soft pillows. Paul would be in work now. Rob had stepped in and said he would assist him in the shop and take over when Paul had to teach. John closed his eyes. Everyone had been so helpful. Rob, George, Ritchie ... and Steve. Such a good probation officer. You could see he really cared about Paul. Allowance had been made for him to visit John in the evening, and the hospital ... well, Trevor, really ... had re-scheduled Ritchie's hours so that he could visit at the same time and be at home when Paul was there so he didn't have to be on his own. John was just beginning to appreciate the little things people around them had done to make their lives easier. To straighten the path before them.

"How are you feeling, John?"  
The voice in his ear made him jump. Talk of the devil.  
Steve smiled at him. "Any better?"  
John nodded carefully, not wanting his head to start thumping again. "Yeah, much better."  
"You should have told me, you know."  
John frowned. Told him what?  
"What had been said to you. About Paul."  
John's frown deepened.  
"At the art exhibition."  
John felt his colour rise. How did they know about that? Unless ... had someone spoke? Ritchie? ... or .. or Stu?  
John's voice was hoarse. "How d'you know?"  
"One of the men who attacked you ... he was arrested."  
John struggled to sit up, intrigued. He hadn't known that. In fact, he didn't really know what had gone on. It had happened so swiftly and he'd not asked, and no one had said, and ...  
"Arrested?"   
Steve's smile was full blown. "Your boyfriend can pack a good punch when he puts his mind to it."  
John searched Steve's face, comprehension dawning. "Paul? Paul .. he?"  
"Laid one of them out. The other fled. Fortunately the local bobby was only round the corner and heard the rumpus. He called for help and an ambulance. I bet you don't remember anything do you?"  
John's eyes briefly closed. That shove he'd received ... narrow eyes glaring at him ... that flash of navy blue ... Paul's coat ... a smile blossomed over John's face.  
Paul. His Paul ... bugger me. "Laid one out, did he?"  
Steve smiled broadly at John's blissful query. "Yes. He certainly did."  
"Good lad. Good lad." John's hands smoothed down the covers. He was tired still.  
"All the same, John, you should have come to me with what had happened. Not just the risk posed to you, but to Paul too. Anything that involves him, that you would perceive as a threat. I can understand you putting one on that guy, but really retribution should be left in the hands of the law."  
Steve's words slowly infiltrated John's brain. "I was furious." John's voice was murmured. "You should have heard him, Steve .. what he said about Paul. What he wanted ... I just .. just saw red."  
Steve nodded understandingly. "I'm sure you did, John, but I can't condone you breaking someone's nose or taking the law into your own hands."  
John let his eyes stay shut. He didn't ... couldn't ... feel any remorse.   
"Anyway." He heard Steve push his chair back. "In case you were wondering .. the young man arrested has told us who hired him and why, and your friends provided the rest of the information."  
John's eyes flew open suddenly. "You've not spoken to Paul, have you? I never told him what was said ... I wouldn't want him to ..."  
"No. No, rest assured. Paul will be kept out of this. Someone will need to interview you, though, and has already interviewed your friend."  
"Stu?"  
"Stuart, yes. He was quite helpful ... managed to give us a fair bit of detail. When you're feeling up to it, one of the detectives would like to talk to you."  
"Not going to charge me, are you?"  
Steve frowned. "What for?"  
"For breaking that bastard's nose?"  
Steve shuffled his feet, trying to hide his smile. "Not this time, John, but next time don't try taking the law into your own hands, will you? Leave it to us."

Steve was concerned. Not that he'd let on to John he was. But the young man they were holding had given the name of who had hired him. That, coupled with the information Stu had given the police, had raised concerns. This was no drug ring. Nothing like that this time to crack. If anything it was more insidious. So-called adult parties. Difficult to pin down as being outside the law, even if the activities were questionable. And what alarmed Steve more, though he realised it hadn't yet hit home with John, was the fact that Paul had once more appeared on their radar. The young man's safety was immediately of paramount importance in Steve's eyes. Without raising any one's concerns, he'd spoken to all of Paul's friends and colleagues to make sure that the young man was not left alone at any time. 

Steve checked his mobile for any messages before he left the hospital. Just one from Retro Records, from Rob, Paul's boss, to say that all was well and should he give Paul a lift home at the end of the day? Steve punched a quick reply saying he'd collect Paul, take him for tea somewhere, and bring him straight to the hospital to see John. As he slipped his phone back in his pocket he thought briefly of that other friend of Paul's .. the tall colourful guy known as George. He'd twigged. Steve knew he had. There was knowledge in George's eyes ... and alarm. He'd realised the threat to Paul straightaway. Steve paused, chewing his lip thoughtfully. A couple of undercover police officers had been deployed to see if they could infiltrate this ring. It would not be an easy nut to crack though.

********************************************************

John sensed someone watching him, even though his eyes were shut. Someone's eyes were boring into his, willing him to wake. A smile touched his lips, even before he opened his eyes. It would be Paul. He just knew it would.  
His eyes flew open suddenly, and the young man watching him with such intensity jumped, startled, and then broke out into a big smile.  
"Hey, Macca .. made you jump, didn't I?"  
Paul nodded, and took John's hand, uncaring of anyone watching. "Certainly did. How y' feeling?"  
"Much better, ta. Bored out me mind. It makes me head ache to read books. And I miss your pretty face to look at," John teased.  
Paul blushed and squeezed John's fingers.  
"They say you can probably be discharged tomorrow."  
John nodded. "Aye, so they said. How's the shop?"  
"Fine. All fine. Hey ..guess what?"  
"What?"  
"I cooked the tea last night for me an' Ritchie."  
John sat up straighter. This was worth hearing about.  
"An' you're still alive to tell the tale?"  
Paul nodded confidently. "I made bacon an' mushroom and mashed potato. And I didn't burn it."  
John smiled broadly. "Good lad. Did Ritchie supervise?"  
"Oh, yeah. I don't think he trusted me to be left."  
"I wonder why" John muttered audibly.  
Paul pulled a face at him.  
From the corner of his eye he could see Steve hovering near to the nurses' station.  
"Steve brought you, has he, then?"  
Paul's eyes flickered across to the hovering figure. "Oh, yeah. He met me from work and took me to Pizza Hut for something to eat."  
Paul frowned, puzzled. "I don't know why. I mean ... I could have got meself to here. S'not as if I don't know where the hospital is. Spent enough time in the place."  
John didn't reply. He was thinking. His mind might be working at a slower rate, but, nonetheless, he was thinking.  
Paul became aware of John's distraction and gave a tug on the fingers that lay within his hand.  
"Y'okay?"  
John blinked. "What? Oh, yeah. Yeah, I'm fine. Are you .. er .. Steve? Is he taking you home? Is that why he's waiting?"  
Paul gave a small shrug. "Yeah. He said he was. Maybe because of the curfew? I dunno." Paul chewed his lip thoughtfully. "Mmm. Oh ... George said he's gonna pop in tomorrow. D'you know what time you'll escape?"  
"Escape? D'you mean be discharged?"  
"Uh huh."  
"Probably afternoon. Why?"  
"Well, 'cos of George coming. But, John, how will you get home?"  
"I'll get a taxi. And if George is here he can come with me for a bit."  
John's gaze switched back to Steve. "He said they've got the guy that hit me."  
Paul went quiet. "Er .. yeah. One of them." He fiddled with John's fingers. John found he was looking at the top of Paul's head.  
"The one you hit?"  
Paul's gaze trailed slowly upwards, meeting John's questioning smile.  
"Mmm .. possibly. Might be."  
John reversed their fingers and gave Paul's a squeeze.  
"I don't think you know you're own strength sometimes, babe."  
Paul's face turned a lovely shade of pink.  
John just couldn't wait to get out of that hospital and get Paul in his arms again.


	29. Chapter 29

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Paul and John go to George's house.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow but this was a stodgy chapter to write and I don't really like it ... er ... hopefully some readers will????? I'll try and do better next time.

The car couldn't go fast enough for Paul. He was fidgeting in the back seat, watching the familiar scenery pass by the window, mentally urging the car to go faster and twitching everytime it stopped for traffic lights. This was now the fourteenth set they'd stopped for on the journey home. He chewed his lip anxiously, willing them to turn to green so they could go. In the front seats he could hear his probation officer chatting amiably with the driver of the squad car but he didn't listen to what the conversation was about. Paul had only one thing on his mind ... John. John would be discharged today. In fact he should already be home. Paul jiggled his knee. For fucksake how long did the lights have to stay on red?

Steve glanced over his seat at an impatient Paul. "You okay?"  
Paul started, his eyes switching from the traffic lights to his probation officer while his mind tried to re-wind Steve's words. What had he just been asked?  
Steve smiled at the young man's distraction. "Are you okay, Paul?"  
Paul nodded. He wasn't going to enter into a conversation. There wasn't room in his mind at the present moment for anyone other than John. Steve observed him carefully and Paul met his gaze with unblinking eyes. Conversation was a waste of his energy. All his energy was required to ensure he got home swiftly. Like ... now. Paul nodded to himself. Now would be good.  
Steve turned back and made a comment to the driver as they moved smoothly away from the lights. Paul's concentration switched back to the world outside the window. He hummed under his breath. He was so anxious to get John back.

John was hovering near to the front window waiting. He could hear George, who'd come back home with him, in the kitchen, clattering about with pans and cutlery. Leave George in the vicinity of a kitchen and he'd be bound to start cooking. John snorted. It was a bit like leaving Paul near to a piano. Within seconds you'd have music. John's head jerked up. A police car had just drawn to a halt outside the house, and before the handbrake had had chance to be applied Paul was out of the car, his feet flying up to the front door. John moved swiftly too, and flung it open to the sight of Paul, breathless and flushed and wide eyed, and he swept him into his arms, totally disregarding the amused faces of Steve and the driver.

Paul's arms went round him, and the younger man pulled John close, sniffing the clothes he wore, breathing in John's scent. John moved, ticklish, and peeled Paul off him to gaze fondly into his face. Paul's smile was from ear to ear.  
"You're home" he breathed "You're really home."  
John shook his head. "Where else did you expect me to be, eh?"  
Tears sprang unbidden to Paul's eyes, and he swiped them away impatiently, unable to contain himself.  
"'m just happy you're back" he mumbled into John's shoulder, sniffing and rubbing his eyes.  
Steve appeared close behind him, and gave John a knowing smile.  
"Someone's happy to see you, eh?"  
John should have been embarrassed. The old John would have been. But not this one. Not this new John.  
He tightened his arms around Paul, tugging him closely in, and met Steve's eyes. John's smile said everything.

George had cooked them an amazing spread. The smell of spices and chutney filled the little room. The food full of flavours that sang and danced.  
But Paul, chewing absent mindedly on a poppadom, could not have told anyone what he was eating. He gazed at John unblinkingly, afraid that if he closed his eyes for a moment John would disappear. Paul sighed in contentment. To have John back safely was the best thing that had happened to him this week.   
John heard the little sigh, and paused in his conversation with George, turning to the quiet figure beside him. Paul's eyes met his, and in them John could only see total adoration. It sent a sharp pang through him. To be so loved was something John never thought would happen to him. He totally forgot he was talking to George and smiled at the young man next to him. Paul's answering smile blossomed across his face. For a moment all they could do was gaze at each other.  
"So..." George cleared his throat, and John's attention snapped back to him. "Do you have to go for a check-up?"  
Check up??? John gathered his scattered thoughts. Oh, check-up.  
He nodded. "Yup. In a couple of days. Should be back in work on Monday."  
Work. Yeah, it would be good to be back to doing something. John was fed up of lying in a hospital bed.   
"No after effects?"  
John shook his head. "Nah. Headache took a couple of days to shift, but I've got a thick skull."   
George nodded. His gaze took in the two young men in front of him. He was a gooseberry here. Time for him to go. He launched himself up from the seat.  
"I must be off. I need to get to work. There's some lentil dahl in the pan for Ritchie when he gets in."  
John made a move to get up, but George halted him. "S'okay ... I'll see meself out. You just take it easy."  
John nodded his thanks. In all that conversation Paul hadn't stirred. He'd glued himself to John's side. And there he was going to stay.

Their lovemaking that night was infinitely tender as they took their time with each other, relishing being together again. As the hands of the clock approached midnight Paul snuggled down under John's armpit, sighing gently in complete satisfaction, his eyelids drooping. He felt John tighten his hold around him as he began to drift. He would have to be up for work in a few hours. He yawned, and snuggled further under the duvet. Steve had said he would be collected. Paul yawned again. Lazily he wondered why. Why were they bothering to do this? His mind had been so taken up worrying about John he'd not, for one moment, questioned anything anyone had asked him to do. He'd simply done it. His one sole purpose in life over the last few days had been fixed on John ... getting to see him in an evening. More often, if someone had been able to get him there. He'd zoned out any other happening in his life, simply running on autopilot. He'd stayed with George. He'd stayed with Ritchie. He'd ate out, wherever Steve had taken him, and ... a thought suddenly struck Paul .. and paid for him too! Steve must have! That was concerning. His middle finger made it's way up into his mouth and he began to chew distractedly, his mind suddenly awake.

His finger was pulled out of his mouth as John took a hold and tugged.  
Paul looked up at him quizically, squinting in the dark.  
"Are you hungry?" John enquired teasingly.  
Paul shook his head and grinned.   
John seemed to be waiting for more.  
"Just thinking" he expanded.  
"And does thinking mean you have to eat yourself?"  
Paul tweaked John playfully. "No, it just helps me concentrate."  
"Oooh... concentrate, eh? At midnight?" John looked fondly down at the top of Paul's head, which was all he could see from his position.  
"What you thinking 'bout, then?"  
Paul screwed his face up, his finger unconsciously heading back towards his mouth as he tried to bring together his random, but in some way, surely, connected, thoughts.  
" 's just, y'know, Steve .. he keeps giving me lifts, an' that. Just wondering why, is all."  
John stroked the back of Paul's arm, listening without really hearing. He loved the melodious flow of Paul's voice. It had a sing song quality to it. He wanted to hear more, so he just nodded a "Uh huh", hoping more would be forthcoming. He was in luck.  
"I mean .. I've always got meself to the care home, an' that, an' back here, an' .. and he's taken me out for tea, an' all, before we've come to see you. An' then he's waited and run me home."  
The finger decisively entered the mouth again, Paul mumbling the last few words around it. "Just wondering, is all."  
He was tired. He was sleepy. Thinking ... especially when he couldn't quite connect the dots .. was tiring. Just too much, sometimes. He left the finger where it was and let his heavy lids droop.  
John felt the sudden weight of Paul's body as he sank towards forgetfulness. He continued to stroke the bit of Paul's arm he could reach. It was quiet in the room without that soft voice rambling on. John was pretty tired too. In the absence of Paul's voice John simply, in an attempt to hear it again, rewound Paul's last few sentences. The words washed through him, seeping into his pores. It was good of Steve, wasn't it, to have done all this for Paul. A real help. Odd, really, because ...

Voom!! It was there. It hit John, taking his breath. Fuck! Why had he not seen it? No wonder Steve had been so protective ... they obviously considered Paul at risk!  
John was suddenly, terrifyingly, awake, his heart hammering.  
Bastards!

It had been hard for John to let Paul out of his sight that morning when Steve arrived to collect him. He wanted Paul near to him ... with him. He didn't trust anyone to look after Paul in the way he did. No one else understood the danger. No one.  
Paul slung his coat on, conscious of Steve waiting outside in the car, and turned to give John a quick peck on the cheek. He was startled when John seized him, crushing him into a bear hug. One perfectly arched eyebrow raised, a teasing smile lurking.  
"You okay, Johnny?"  
John sank his head on Paul's shoulder.   
"Just hurry up home" he muttered into Paul's navy coat. That navy coat. That flash of blue. His Paul.  
Paul patted his back, confused. "I won't be late. It's just a normal Friday."  
The car horn sounded, and Paul sprang back, startled. "I have to go."   
He looked anxiously at John. "You'll be okay, won't you?"  
John nodded, forcing a smile. If Paul was unaware of the danger, why worry him?   
"I'm good. Just .. take care, eh?"

George passed John a mug of tea, and considered the question John had thrown at him.  
"At risk?"  
He tried to pass it off. He tried to sound nonchalant.  
John saw straight through him.  
George shifted, stretching his legs out, perusing the toes of his red suede boots.  
"I dunno, John. I reckon the police are across it. As much as they can be." He took a sip of his tea, and frowned. It always tasted different when he had tea at Ritchie's. Here the tea tasted like .. well, tea. George wondered idly if there might be something odd about the water in his flat. "I think Paul is in as safe hands as it's possible to be, given that the threat to him is vague anyway."  
George surveyed John's dejected stoop over the rim of his mug. He gave him a nudge.  
"Actually, I reckon there might be more of a threat to anyone that tries to take on Paul, considering what he did to that guy."  
John shook his head, smiling.   
"And, anyway ... " George began warming up to the subject. The subject that no one spoke about but everyone knew about. Well, most people. Well, a few. "Paul's getting older."  
John swung his head towards George and frowned. "So?"  
"So ... they like pretty boys, right? Paul isn't a young boy anymore .. he's a man of nearly twenty three. Not so easy to manipulate. Fairly good at looking after himself. I'd imagine, fairly soon, he'll slip off their radar."  
While that was a comforting thought, it sent a chill through John. "Aye .. they'll be looking for some other poor bugger."  
"If it helps .. well, it might not, but .. y'know, everything Paul went through ... it has brought a few to justice. And that's a few less on the streets. They might not get them all, but they'll get some. And that's how you have to look at it, John."  
John considered George's words, letting them sink in. He spoke quietly into his mug.  
"So .. d'you really think it'll make a difference, Paul getting older?"  
George nodded emphatically. "Yeah. Yeah, I do. When Luke first got Paul into his clutches, he was only about seventeen. It's how they like 'em, isn't it? Young, inexperienced, impressionable."  
"Bastard." John swore.  
George tried to swing the conversation. After all, he was here to keep John company while Paul and Ritchie were at work. And he could only stay until the early afternoon as Fridays were busy at the restaurant.   
"Er ... d'you remember what I mentioned a few days ago? After you'd been to see your aunt? "  
John's eyes flashed curiously, happy to be drawn onto a different subject.  
"D'you mean about visiting your mam?"  
George nodded, his tea sloshing everywhere. "Yeah, yeah. That's it. Well ... I don't start till late on Sunday so I'm going round to see her in the afternoon, an' I wondered ... well, y'know .. if .." George subsided, not wanting to pressurise.  
John smiled. "If I'll come and bring Paul?"  
George coloured beautifully. "Yeah. She'd be so chuffed to see him."  
"I'll do me best, Georgie. If I promise to defend him will you tell your mam not to get the best china out?"  
George laughed loudly. "It's Speke we're talking about here, mate. No such thing as best china. You'll be drinking out of tin buckets."

*******************************************************

Two weeks ago, John thought. Exactly two weeks ago we were doing this very same thing. Standing on a doorstep waiting for the door to open.  
Then, as now, John had been conscious of Paul pressed closely to his side.   
But this ... this was a simple nineteen sixties built council house. Nothing posh about this. Just clean and scrubbed and plain.  
This was no alarming Mimi who would swing open the door.  
Nonetheless John could sense Paul's trepidation.  
"She won't ask anything" George had assured him. "I've warned her. Anyway .. I'll already be there when you arrive. I'm heading over in the morning for dinner."  
The smell of the sea was strong in their nostrils, reminding them it lay not far off behind the estate. As they waited, a Ryan Air plane came overhead, it's undercarriage down, ready to land. The roar of the motors filled the air and they both followed it's course with their eyes. As they turned back it was to discover the door had been opened and George was standing there, dressed in bright yellow shirt and green jeans with an enormous pair of hairy slippers on. His smile was from ear to ear.  
"You made it!" He'd been wondering if they would. At the back of his mind he'd already prepared himself for Paul ducking out at the last moment. He was overjoyed to see them and flung the door wide. "Come in, come in."  
John stepped back to allow Paul to enter first and gave him a gentle push in the hollow of his back.

Paul wanted to run.  
There was a rushing noise in his ears.  
A strange shift in the air around him.  
He was conscious of John and George but it was as if they were on a different plane to him, slightly out of sync. Blurred.  
In fact, nothing around him seemed stable.  
Everything was hazy.  
Shifting.  
He stopped still, John bumping into him.  
The rushing noise was so loud now surely everyone could hear.  
He saw George's lips moving, saying something.  
He couldn't hear.  
He didn't think he could breathe either.  
He started to panic ... what was he doing here?  
In fact ... where was here?  
Where was he?  
There was something familiar ... familiar ...   
The smell ... the wallpaper ... the ... the ...  
She appeared in front of him, suddenly ... an apparition.   
So familiar. Her smile wide. Her arms open.  
He went into them as easily as he went into John's, his feet carrying him unbidden.  
A pair of arms enclosed him. Wrapping him up in them.  
A feminine perfume that lingered somewhere in his childhood memory filled his nostrils.  
A voice ... he didn't know what it was saying but .....  
He breathed deeply, taking in the scent.

********  
"Just baked them ... here you go, you must be starving" .... bicycles left against the wall of the house .... she was putting a plaster on his knee because he'd fallen trying to climb a tree with George .. George's knees sticking in his back because he was sleeping over and they were crammed into a tiny bed ... running into the house with a frog they'd rescued from the road outside ... being fed toast on a cold winter's evening ... his mother dying .. meals round at George's .. leaving school .. working ... an endless succession of dead end jobs ... her smile ... her concern ... the memories rolled through Paul's mind like an unending stream ...

********

"A cup of tea, love?"  
Paul heard the words as the roaring in his ears died down.  
It hadn't been the first time she'd asked him, but it had been the first time he'd heard her.  
He stepped backwards, out of her arms, and gave a shaky smile.  
She held on tightly to her own smile as her eyes examined him.  
He looked well. He'd grown ... quite the young man.  
But beneath the exterior she could still see the vulnerability.  
A cruel twist of fate.

George bounded between them all, reminding John of an enthusiastic puppy with long legs and feet that tripped over everything ... although much of that was due to the ginormous pair of slippers George insisted on wearing. He was so happy to have John and Paul here. Paul especially. His mother had done nothing but ask about Paul for the last few years. Not that said person was very talkative. In fact Paul was huddled tightly against John looking somewhat confused.

Louise and John hit it off incredibly well, and the absence of any input from Paul was not therefore blindingly obvious, but nonetheless they were all aware of it.  
He seemed content just to listen to the banter, occasionally chewing on a fingernail, but if anyone had asked him what the conversation was about, he wouldn't have known.

From the moment he'd stepped through the door his equilibrium had been shaken.   
Unconsciously pressing next to John, his thoughts were in turmoil. He was trying to sort out the boxes in his mind.  
This ... this place .. this house ... Louise .. it belonged to the box labelled 'Before' in his head.  
'Before' wasn't too bad, although it held a few unhappy memories which were now clammering for attention, like a dam suddenly released. They all raised their voices at the same time, wanting to be heard, having been pushed away for so long. Paul's eyes darkened as he began to turn inwards, trying to hush them, re-organise them, shove them back into their designated apartments. 

If he let the 'Before' out he knew he wouldn't cope with what came next.

There was the box labelled 'Before' which held many compartments.

Then there was the box that he didn't think about. Or tried not too. That only held one compartment, and none of it was good.

Then there was the box marked 'After', and that included his life now. It held lots of compartments, some happy, some sad, but, progressively, getting better. He could cope with those compartments. Occasionally he tidied that box in his mind, did a bit of re-arranging, deleted a few items that were of no particular importance. But it was a manageable box.

But now 'Before' had raised it's head, he had to try and dodge round the other one. The elephant that sat in his mind that he tried to ignore. 

He shouldn't have come.   
He knew he shouldn't.  
Knew there was a reason why he'd ducked George's invites.  
Because George's home was part of the 'Before' and to get back to 'After' he had to go through .. through the ..  
"I want to go home." The words were whispered but occurred during a second's pause in the conversation.  
All heads swung to look at him, although he wasn't aware of it.  
A trickle of blood ran down his finger where he'd chewed through the skin.  
George looked at John who looked at Louise who looked at George, who ..  
...they all looked back at Paul.  
John tutted, and drew a ragged tissue from his pocket.  
"Here, what are you doing, eh?" John tugged Paul's finger from his mouth and wiped the trail of blood up. John surveyed Paul anxiously, noting the 'not quite there' emotion in his eyes. It was like that split second before they glazed over, and John hadn't seen that happen for a while. Therefore he was rougher than he intended as he squeezed Paul's hand, causing another trail of blood to run down the chewed finger. He was desperate to keep Paul grounded. And mortified that Paul's only words so far had been a request to go home. What on earth would Louise think?

Louise exchanged a glance with George, who shook his head and mouthed 'sorry' to her. Her returning smile was sad. She'd been delighted when George had told her earlier that John and Paul might come round. She'd been so fond of Paul as a young boy. He'd been like another member of their household, particularly after the death of his mother. His disappearance out of her life over five years ago had been, to her, a tragedy. Like losing one of her own. She'd gleaned what she could of his whereabouts from a reluctant George, whose own knowledge had diminished as Luke's tentacles had wrapped tighter around the young man in question. His one visit, out of the blue three Christmases ago, had ended in disaster and left nothing but a load of questions in her mind. Questions that she sensed George could, but didn't want to, answer. She could recall as if it were only yesterday the bright-eyed, academically capable boy who'd befriended her youngest child during his first few days at high school. What on earth had gone on in his life to change him so much?

John mopped up Paul's finger, his mind whirling. Could he drag Paul round? Was it fair to? Should he just submit and take him home? They'd only been here ... he threw a sideways glance at the clock .. just over twenty minutes. He concentrated on the job in hand, just to give himself something to do. He heard George clear his throat, and then Louise stood up.  
"I'll go and find a plaster." She vanished in the direction of the kitchen.  
George and John exchanged glances.  
John shook his head. "Sorry."  
George shrugged. "Don't worry. It's probably the memories."  
The memories. Of what?  
Paul's eyes were dark, unfocused, looking at nothing but seeing something. Something that was in his head.  
John swore softly under his breath. "I thought he was getting better" he spoke aloud to the room.  
George moved to perch next to him. "He is. He is getting better, John. I guess sometimes he will just lapse .. and don't forget he can hear what you're saying."  
Alarmed, John looked closely at Paul, who didn't seem to be giving any attention to anything other than the vacant space in front of him.  
John swung questioningly back to George and raised an eyebrow. "Really?"  
George gave a wry smile and nodded.  
"Am I right, Paul?"  
Paul blinked, and slowly turned his gaze to George. Watching the young man one would be given allowances for thinking everything was happening in slow motion, but George knew better. Outwardly Paul may look calm but inwardly he was churning, unable to cope with so many conflicting emotions. It took a few seconds for his gaze to fully focus on George, but when it did the same request fell from his lips again.  
"I want to go home."

Louise heard the words plaintively spoken as she re-entered the room with a box of plasters. She frowned.  
"John, just take him home. Don't worry about it. I'm not offended."  
John began to object, but she waved his objections aside.  
"Honest, not a problem. Let me just find a plaster ... need a small one. Here .... this do?"  
She held aloft a thin, long plaster that would wrap around the tip of Paul's finger.   
John nodded. "Ta. Much appreciated. I'm sorry about this ... I don't know what's got into him. He was okay coming."  
As John wound the plaster around Paul's finger he was aware of the younger man's eyes fixed on him.  
He could feel Paul's breaths on his face as he applied the plaster, winding it round, pressing on the ends to connect them.  
He glanced up. Paul's face was only a couple of inches from his. Had he moved nearer? Slid over the settee? John hadn't felt him move, but he was practically in John's lap, his eyes glued on John's face. No one else existed for him.

John ignored the others around him. He knew, with absolute certainty, that Paul was trying to ground himself. He could read it in the eyes that were scanning his face.  
John spoke quietly. "You okay, babe?"  
Paul's finger, decorated with the plaster, reached up to touch John's face questioningly, as if to check he was really there.  
George and Louise watched this silent exchange with bated breath. It was almost mesmerising.  
"John?"  
"Hmm?"  
Paul blinked slowly. He glanced round, noticing, as if for the first time, Louise and George. His eyes widened in astonishment.  
His gaze swung back to John. "George and Auntie Louise are here" he said sotto voce.  
John nodded agreeably. "They are indeed."  
Paul's face gathered a small frown. "Why?"  
"Why what, love?"  
Paul chewed his lip before responding. "Why are they here?"  
"Er .. maybe because they live here?"  
Paul's eyes widened even more. This was news to him.  
"When did that happen?"  
John shifted uncomfortably. This conversation was beginning to freak him out. It was blindingly obvious that somewhere along the way Paul had become disorientated as to where he was.  
"Well, er ... they've lived here for a long time, y'know."  
Paul fell quiet. He fixed his gaze on John's shoulder. It looked comforting. Like a pillow. Paul touched it tentatively with his fingers. Was it as comfortable as it looked?  
He gave the shoulder a stroke. John sat perfectly still, letting him. George and Louise watched in silent fascination, almost holding their breaths. It was if the room itself was waiting. Paul's eyes swung back to John's face and a small smile flickered for a moment, then his eyes travelled back to the shoulder.  
The shoulder that belonged to John.  
If it was John, everything was okay.   
His anchor.  
He wasn't sure where he was. What was happening. Why's, what's and wherefore's circled aimlessly.  
But John was here.  
Paul gave a small sigh, and nestled his head on that shoulder.  
His lashes fluttered shut.  
He'd gone.

It was five o'clock when John shook him awake. By which time he and Louise had got to know one another very well. George had rung for a taxi which was going to drop them off first and take George on to the restaurant. At least, John thought, as he began rousing Paul, the lad didn't switch off for days at a time any more. That had to be an improvement.

Paul was completely befuddled. Why was John waking him? He yawned, noting different curtains ... and ... wallpaper ... and ... the settee? And ... Paul's eyes opened wide, totally confused. Where on earth was he? He sat up, shrugging his neck to ease the crick, and saw Louise.  
"Oh!" The exclamation fell from his lips. Had he? Had .. he turned to look at John for clarification.  
"You fell asleep, love."  
Paul coloured.   
He had a feeling there was a bit more to it than that, but he didn't want to know. No, sirree!   
Then George was in the room, handing them their coats, and John was thanking Louise for having them, and she was nodding and smiling although all the time her eyes were on Paul. He could feel her gaze. Had he done something stupid? Embarrassed himself?   
John was bundling him into his coat as if he were a child who couldn't look after himself. He felt dazed anyway, the vestiges of sleep still clinging to him. Then Louise was there, patting his arm.  
"Nice to see you, love. Don't leave it so long again"  
and George was nodding and smiling  
and John was taking his arm, propelling him towards the waiting taxi.  
He heard the roar of a jet plane taking off as he slipped into the backseat, John close on his heels.  
He wanted to ask,  
but he didn't want to know.  
What had happened?  
John took his hand that was lying on the seat between them, and interlaced their fingers.  
Paul turned to him.  
"Was I? ... I mean, did I? .. I .. er ... John? Did I do anything stupid?"  
John smiled and squeezed his fingers.  
"Not at all, babe. You simply went to sleep on everyone."


	30. Chapter 30

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath of the visit to Louise, rehearsing for a wedding.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is just a short chapter as I felt the need to get something up! Please keep the comments coming. Can't believe I've been writing this for five months ... I do hope you're all enjoying it as much as I am writing it. I'm very self indulgent. There is/are endings planned ,,, but I don't feel like finishing it yet. If you've had enough let me know though!!

He'd lain on his side chewing the middle finger of his right hand, his mind blank. Or at least as blank as it was possible for him to make it. Thinking brought no resolution, no comfort. It was best not to think. To make his mind numb. Empty. A difficult concept for a boy who'd always had a lively mind. But it was the only answer. He chewed his finger harder. Yes, it was the only solution. Not to think. Not to consider anything. How did one do that? He considered the problem curiously. It gave him something to do ... but ... wait ... he'd already decided he wasn't going to think, so ... how did he stop his thoughts? How did he halt his brain, prevent it from considering things? 

The sudden taste of iron in his mouth made him pause. His finger was bleeding, a slight trickle. He held it towards the light of the window .. or where the light of the window should have been. Earlier today some guy ... had Paul known him?? .. he'd looked quizzically at him as he'd worked, but then? ... Luke didn't usually mix with workmen. No. Most of his friends were wealthy businessmen. This guy hadn't spoken to Paul ... just glanced at him from time to time where he'd sat on the floor, leaning back against the wall, watching as the guy boarded up the window that had been Paul's one contact with the outside world. Through that he'd watched the coming and going of the local neighbourhood. When there was nothing to do. Nothing to read. Nothing to ... He could have told you though that there were six satellite dishes visible, and that at night when most people were home there were eleven black cars, two white, four red and one yellow parked round the back of the flats. And that a tabby cat always made it's rounds at about four in the afternoon, and that the family who lived across the road had a new baby in the family, and that Milk and More delivered to that house at about six thirty in the morning ... 

But he wasn't going to see that anymore, was he? Where the window had been there was a dark piece of wood hammered across. Paul had run his fingers over it after the guy had gone. Just to check ... would it open? He'd explored every crevice inquisitively, but of course it didn't open. It threw his small bedroom into perpetual gloom ... unless, of course, he put the light on. Which he could. But it didn't help him to see the world outside. That had been effectively denied to him.

A bit later Luke had come in to inspect it. He'd glanced dismissively at Paul and had gone straight to the window. He regarded the workmanship with a satisfied smile. Then left again, locking the door behind him. Paul's eyes remained on the door for a short time after, willing it to re-open. Just so he could see someone. Anyone. Even Luke. But it remained stubbornly closed.

Finally he'd emitted a small sigh and lay down on his bed, instinctively chewing on a finger. And that was where he was now at. Considering NOT considering anything. Not thinking.  
Not ... well, not existing, really. He wondered idly if his dad ever thought about him. Wondered what had happened to him. There wasn't anyone who actually missed him. No one. He could disappear off the face of this earth and no one would know. What was worse, no one would care. There was no one to miss him. Except, maybe ... George. Despite his best intentions not to think, he couldn't help but consider George. Paul sucked the blood off his finger as his memory re-created George's face in his mind. Recalled his voice. Surely George would remember him. Wonder what had happened to him. Quietly Paul murmured to himself the address George had given him. He'd held it like a mantra in his memory, to be nurtured and cherished. One day ... one day he might need it. If he ever got out of here. Which ... didn't ... really ... seem ... very ... likely. Paul sighed and rolled over onto his side, facing the now boarded up window. 

Eleven black, four red, two white and one yellow. Eighteen cars. Eighteen could be divided between two and between three, but if you tried to divide between four there would be two odd ones left. If you made the odd ones out the white then they wouldn't feel on their own. Six satellite dishes would share equally between eighteen cars though. Each six cars could have two satellite dishes, which meant three cars could share one, and ... Paul jumped himself as his teeth nicked flesh sharply, and pulled his finger out of his mouth, shifting quickly to stop the blood getting on the sheets. But already there was a smear. Fuck! Luke would be annoyed. Paul shifted off the bed, moving swiftly into the small en-suite, grabbing a wet flannel, trying to rub the blood off the clean sheets. It only succeeded in spreading a pink washy mess over the white covering. He sank down at the side of the bed, and buried his head in his arms. Eighteen. If you halved it you had nine. Nine was an interesting number. But seven was better. But seven didn't go into eighteen.  
He heard the door unlock behind him but kept his head buried, his thoughts chasing numbers. How could he fit seven into eighteen? It would only go into it twice ... a hand pulled him to his feet ... and it would leave four ... pushed him back onto the bed ... what could he do with four? .... he heard without listening a couple of voices ... four ... well, there were four red cars ... fingers dug into his wrist ... four red cars ... someone breathing heavily ..... four ... divide by two ... he held on frantically to his thoughts ... 

"Paul?"  
Four red cars ... now they could be divided ...  
"Paul? "  
A hand stroking his arm fingers trailing. Four cars would ... would ... do something. Wouldn't they?  
"Tea?"  
Paul blinked. The daylight was suddenly, overwhelmingly, dazzling. The room smelt fresh, not stale. Cars were floating around, like a miniature merry-go-round in his head.  
"Four red cars" he murmured.  
John frowned, then smiled as he put the tea down on the bedside table.  
"You want four red cars? And there was me thinking I had a boyfriend who wasn't very materialistic."  
Paul looked confusedly at John. The cars were more prominent than him at the moment. He shut his eyes again. Was he still in that room? Hang on .. which room? Which .. room??  
His heart rate picked up. He didn't want to be in THAT room. But suppose ... suppose he'd always been in that room and everything else was a figment of his imagination. He'd conjured everything up in his head. Except ... he wasn't supposed to be thinking. He'd given up on thinking. On thoughts. Except those cars. Now that was important.

Cautiously he peered from beneath his lashes. The room was still light. Had someone put the light on? Usually the room was dark when he had visitors. Luke preferred it that way.  
Maybe ..  
He jumped as a thumb stroked his cheek, and his eyes flew open.  
John's smile was broad, although his eyes betrayed concern. "Ey, daft lad ... what you on about? Come on ... tea for you an' time to get up. Have you been dreaming?"  
"John?"  
John wiggled his eyebrows. "The one and only. Who else were you expecting?"  
Paul launched himself at the figure perched on the bed, and John swiftly caught him, taken by surprise.  
"I .. I thought ..." Paul caught his breath, and pulled back to stare intently at John, who met the scrutiny with a fixed smile.  
"What did you think? Hmm? At seven in the morning thoughts are difficult to come by."  
Paul scrunched his face into a frown ... every inch of his features was screwed up, querying. "Are you real?"  
John barked a laugh, then realised immediately that Paul was serious. He shook his head, and hugged the younger man tightly.  
"I hope I'm fucking real, love. Otherwise who you been sleeping with all night?"  
Paul leaned in, resting his head on John's shoulder, ignoring the collarbone that was digging in.  
"I wasn't sure ... I thought .. maybe .. that .." he trailed off, unable to vocalise the fear he'd felt.  
John's fingers smoothed the tousled dark hair. He winced visibly.

When they'd arrived home yesterday from George's Paul had headed straight upstairs to their room, and John had found him a few minutes later curled up into a ball on his side, fast asleep. Despite the fact it was not yet seven. And he'd not eaten either. John had quietly pulled the covers over the sleeping form. It was what Paul did. Couldn't cope. Switch off. Sleep. And now the counting again. John held him tightly, giving Paul space to come round in his own time. To orientate himself once more. Obviously yesterday had caused a bigger trauma then they'd thought. Seeing Louise. Being back in that house.

John searched for non confrontational conversation. Their day ahead ... a Monday. Usual routine ... hopefully that would help. And this lad needed something to eat before he went out. Running soothing circles over Paul's back John suggested breakfast ... dropping it in casually. After all, he was hungry so Paul must be ravenous.  
To John's relief Paul responded. Toast. Toast and tea and marmalade. Keep it light, keep it bright, John thought. Keep chatting. It was raining outside, a soft April rain.

John felt Paul lean comfortingly against him, listening with half-closed eyes to John's chatter. John sometimes wondered what went on in Paul's head at times like this ... half of him wanted to know, the other half was scared to. John kept up a running commentary. As he did so he wondered where all this drivel could originate from that he was spouting? Christ, and he'd said Paul could talk.  
"I thought ... I thought I'd imagined it all ... you .. Ritchie .. everything." The voice spoke softly, and John halted, surprised. Paul had simply cut across John's conversation with this sentence. John couldn't even recall what he'd been nattering on about anyway.  
Paul pulled back and looked at John, his eyes dark and anxious but wanting to talk. Needing to communicate.  
"I wasn't sure if .. if you were a figment of my imagination. That I'd conjured you up. Just .. made you up, y'know, and that really I was still .. " Paul took a deep breath ".. still .. there. With Luke." He clarified, his cheeks tingeing pink.  
Jesus but it turned a knife in John's heart. He shoved down the anger he felt and offered Paul a bright smile.  
"I can pinch you if you want, just to make sure?"  
Paul squirmed out of John's arms. "No .. no, it's okay .."  
"Tickle, then ..." and John leapt on the younger man, aiming for the ribs.  
There was brief chaos as they struggled on the bed, Paul kicking wildly, bouncing the mattress. Unable to cling on, John was bucked off, landing with a thump on his backside.  
"Ooof .. mister!! That's unfair."  
Although Paul's eyes were still dark with anxiety his lips curved up in a smile. "Why unfair?"  
"You've got longer legs than me!"

On the way home that evening the gentle rain had become a torrential downpour. A squad car sat with it's hazard warning lights flashing as it awaited them. John chewed his lip thoughtfully. Had Paul picked up yet on why the police were doing this? After all, with an over-stretched budget and an insufficient police force they couldn't, under normal conditions, act as a taxi service for someone on probation. John cast a glance at the open door of the small music room where Paul was tidying up .. John snorted a little sigh through his nose. Tidying up!! Bloody O.C.D. this kid had.  
"How y' doing Paul? Car's waiting."  
Paul popped his head round the door. "Nearly done. Put the lights off if you want. I'll be out in a sec."  
Feeling guilty about a police car waiting for them, John switched off all the lights and tossed the keys of the shop across to Paul.  
"I'll go out and chat to them. Don't forget to put the alarm on."  
He heard an unintelligible reply as he exited.  
To his surprise it was Steve waiting for them. He threw John a bright smile.  
"Alright, Mr. Lennon? I managed to acquire a car for a job I had so said I'd do this run tonight. Lovely weather for ducks, eh?"  
John shook the rain off his fringe, and wiped his glasses. "Aye up Steve, good to see you. Certainly is. Still if it rains all it wants now hopefully it'll be done with it before Ritchie gets married next month."  
"What date?"  
John popped his glasses back on. "Fifteenth. Less than four weeks. Sorry .. Mr. O.C.D. is still tidying up." John nodded towards the shop.  
Steve shook his head. "Not a problem. We can wait. How's he doing?"  
Memories of the day before and that morning flooded John's mind. "How long y' got?" he retorted.   
Steve looked at him curiously. John smiled, easing it. "He's okay. Still has his ups and downs, y'know .. but .. he's okay." John frowned thoughtfully.  
"While he's .. er .. otherwise occupied, can I ask y'? D'you think there's still a threat to Paul? Is that why you're doing all these lifts?"  
Steve shifted uncomfortably and responded with another question. "Has Paul asked?"  
John blinked, bemused. "No. No he hasn't. It's not on his radar to. Not yet, anyway. Is there a risk?"  
Steve sighed. "We hope not, John. We're just playing cautious after what happened to you. Things are .. happening at the moment, but I can't say more than that. So ... " Steve smiled to take the sting out of his words " ..please don't ask me. My concern is to keep Paul, and thereby you, safe. Let that suffice."  
"Aye .. it's raining cats and dogs out there." Paul hurled himself into the backseat next to John, shaking the rain off his hair in much the same way John had. His eyes widened as he caught sight of who their driver was. "Oh, hullo Steve."  
"Evening Paul. All well?"  
Paul cast a sideways glance at John. Was all well? Had John mentioned anything about that .. that .. whatever it was this morning??? Steve noted the look and the pause but chose not to pick up on it.  
"Er, yeah, I'm good, thanks. Er .. how are you?"  
John smiled to himself. This was Paul switching into 'I need to be polite' mode and catching up on social skills that were a bit behind everyone else's.  
"I'm good too, thank you for asking. Right. Let's get you both home, shall we?" Steve started the car, and a gust of warm air blew from the air conditioning. Paul sighed, and leaned back against the seat.  
"Keys?" John murmured to him quietly. Paul scrabbled in his pocket, locating them with the tips of his fingers, and passed the jangling bunch to John.  
"Did you remember to set the alarm?"  
Paul nodded, his eyes mesmerised by the wipers and the pattern they were creating. And the rhythm. A steady pulse in two time. One, two. One, two. No matter what speed the car went, or if it stopped for traffic lights, the wipers never ceased. One, two. One, two. Four red cars. Could be divided into two. Two red cars each. But you couldn't divide them by the occupants of this car because there were three of them. So that meant ..  
"Are you sure?"  
Paul blinked, and looked at John. What? Was he sure of what? "You can't divide three into four, it doesn't go. It won't work."  
Paul sounded so definite it was now John's turn to be confused. He was sure he'd asked Paul about the alarm, so what the hell was he? .. oh! Of course. This morning. Four red cars, that was what he'd said when he woke. Obviously something going on in that head of his.  
His curiosity piqued, Steve listened to the conversation. It was ... interesting, to say the least.  
John smiled teasingly. "Are you on about cars again?"  
Paul blushed endearingly, but he came back defensively enough. "Yeah. Why? What are you on about?"  
John gave him a little poke. "I asked if you were sure you'd put the alarm on."  
There was a pause. John saw Paul chew his lip. The silence grew. John waited.  
Paul slid lower down in the seat. He didn't know. There'd been a car waiting for him, and ... he was hopeless, wasn't he? Fucking hopeless.  
The silence was so dense Steve felt the need to intervene, although he hadn't really wanted them to know he'd been listening to their conversation.  
"D'you want me to turn round and go back?"  
The occupants of the backseat both started. They'd almost forgotten their driver.  
"Yes please."  
"No, it's okay."  
They both spoke at once.  
Paul looked questioningly at John.  
"S'okay. I'll ring Rob. He'll nip down and check. Don't worry about it." John glanced up and directed his voice into the front of the car. "S'okay. Don't worry. Not a problem Steve."  
Paul's middle finger slid between his teeth as he began to gnaw at it.  
John huffed a little sigh and tugged it from Paul's mouth, stopping to give the fingers a gentle squeeze.  
"It's not a problem, Paul. Okay? Don't worry."  
In the rear view mirror Steve watched this gentle exchange. He hoped fervently that the two undercover investigators that were on this case were going to be successful. If justice were ever to really be done, they needed to be.

Ritchie was bubbling with excitement and not a small twinge of nerves. A rehearsal. A rehearsal for the wedding. It involved him and Lottie and George, and then, if possible, both sets of parents, and of course if John and Paul wanted to come along, though they didn't have to, if they couldn't, because it was going to be on a Thursday evening and obviously Paul had the .. er .. and the curfew, but maybe, if he wanted, he could get permission? Just for once? Be allowed?  
Paul latched on to the excitement, his eyes shining, turning enthusiastically to John.  
"Can you ask? Will you ask Steve for me?" His fingers were digging into John's arm. It was impossible to contain the excitement.  
John really wanted Paul to ask. 'Try and encourage him to be more independent' Steve had said. It was no good though. From John's very first request prior to Christmas it was to him Paul looked when a favour was needed. Paul's eyes were fixed on his, anxious, excited, and he couldn't nay say it. Now was not the time.  
He nodded, and was rewarded with a beaming smile.

So here they were, in the church. Three weeks to go. The flowers that hopefully would be in bloom by the fifteenth of the month were peeking shyly out from between the meadow grasses. The church felt cold .. the left over chill of winter despite radiators being on .. and that distinct smell of old prayer books and furniture polish. They gathered in a huddled groups, having been introduced to Lottie and Ritchie's parents. Paul had attached himself determinedly to John's side and would only venture forth by a few inches if George happened to be near. He was excited, though. John could almost feel him buzzing, vibrating. In fact it was so strong at one point John glanced down curiously at him .. was he humming or something?? But Paul's eyes were fixed doggedly on everything that was going on. Who had to do what, when and why. The cheerful old priest dressed in faded corduroy took the young couple through their wedding vows, instructing George on his role and making the endless, timeless joke about lost and forgotten wedding rings. Beside him John heard Paul draw a deep breath. Yup .. good job it wasn't Paul being best man, John thought wryly. He'd be totally neurotic over taking care of the rings and then probably forget them. Finally the elderly priest wandered over to talk to John and Paul.  
"The ushers, I believe?" he'd smiled. John had nodded back. Paul had shrank into his side. John tried to peel him off without the priest noticing but Paul was having none of it and huddled even closer. Tactfully the priest ignored the subtle wrestling match that was ensuing before his eyes.  
"So ... if one of you directs the guests to the bride's side .. that is the left as you enter the church ... and one to the groom's side, which is obviously the right, all should be fine."  
Should be. Paul frowned. Should? What could go wrong?  
"So you need to decide who is doing which side and as people arrive you simply ask them who they are with .. bride or groom .. and seat them accordingly...." the priest became keenly aware of a pair of wide hazel eyes fixed upon him unblinkingly. He turned and smiled at Paul. ".... and that's all there is to it. Bingo!"  
Paul jumped at the sudden exclamation.  
"So ... I'll see you both in a few weeks. Let's pray for good weather. eh?"  
John felt he had to cover for his partner's odd behaviour. "Er, yeah. Let's pray, that is. Erm ... thanks for that. Much appreciated."  
By now Paul was half hidden behind John whose coat he was clutching onto.   
The priest gave a nod and a smile goodbye, his smile fading slightly as he met the yet still unblinking eyes of Paul.   
Why did he have the feeling he may well find all the congregation at this particular wedding sitting on one side?

"I can't do it."  
John heaved a sigh, uncaring that Paul heard him. "Don't be stupid Paul, of course you can."  
Paul was having none of it. "No, I can't. I'll .. I'll mess it up. Do something wrong."  
John pushed down the smile that was bubbling up. "Why? Why would you do something wrong, eh?"  
Paul briefly considered the scenario. Church. People. Lots of ... people, that is. Who he didn't know. Lots of ... people. And the priest .. he'd said "Should be". "Should be okay."  
No ... not okay. Fine. All should be fine. That had been his words. But it wouldn't be, would it? Not if they let Paul at it. He couldn't do anything right. Fuck! He couldn't even remember to set the alarm at the shop. His middle finger automatically went into his mouth and at John's frown he swiftly extracted it again.  
"I''ll fuck it up."  
"No you won't."  
"I will, John. I'm no good at things ..." woah, John thought, as Paul escalated into a swift downward spiral of self criticism. "...everyone on the wrong side and .. and John ... " his eyes widened even more as a sudden realisation hit him " ... I'll have to TALK to them. Ask them who they're with!! Oh fuck ... I can't do that." His middle finger entered his mouth and determinedly remained there despite John's frown.  
John shook his head, torn between laughing and crying.   
He pulled Paul into his arms.  
"Paul, you'll be fine. WE'LL be fine. I'm there with you, okay? I'm not leaving you. If it helps, I'll do the talking. You can show them to their ...." Paul was already shaking his head, the finger having completely disappeared by now " .. seats. Okay, okay. Look, we'll BOTH show them to their seats, okay? Yeah? How's that?" John felt Paul relax slightly, losing some of that wide-eyed desperate stare.   
"Really?" Paul mumbled from round his finger.  
John nodded. "Really."  
The finger began to slip out of it's own accord. "You won't let me balls it up?"  
"I won't let you balls it up. Not that you would, mind."  
A small smile flickered at the corner of Paul's mouth. "Okay then."  
John felt triumphant "Okay?"  
Paul nodded, one extremely wet finger stroking John's neck. "Okay."  
John paused, surveying the young man in his arms.  
"D'you know" he murmured quietly "you will look stunning in a morning suit. Think I might be moved to marry you myself."  
Paul's eyes widened, his cheeks colouring a bewitching shade of pink. He wasn't sure how to respond to this. "Oh!" he breathed, inches away from John's face.  
John closed the gap swiftly and captured Paul's lips in a passionate kiss.


	31. Chapter 31

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the lovely comments.

Paul ran the tips of his fingers across the smooth cotton surface of the tea towels, relishing the texture, his eyes dreamy and distant. He was completely lost in his thoughts, oblivious to Jacob who watched him with a smile. In three months time Jacob and Rob would be taking off to live in France. They'd already made a few trips across and were busy collecting belongings for their new apartment in a tiny village. This flat would then become the abode of John and Paul for at least the foreseeable future. With this in mind Jacob had been going through things with Paul ... what they would be leaving behind, what they would be taking, what John and Paul would need to purchase.

They'd decided to leave the furniture .. it wasn't worth the effort of taking all that with them. But Jacob had sat today with Paul and made a list of what they were planning on taking so that Paul and John had an idea of what they would need to purchase when they took over the flat. John had hidden a smile at the fact it was Paul Jacob was doing this with. John had a feeling it would be HIM not Paul doing the purchasing. It was very likely Paul had never purchased bed linen in his life. Equally, though, John understood fully Jacob's insistence on involving Paul at every step of this venture. To make him feel valued and that his opinion mattered ... which, of course, it did.

Jacob gave a discreet cough and startled Paul out of his daydream. He carried on with the conversation as if there had never been a pause.  
"So ... it's not worth us taking items like tea towels, Paul. It really isn't. So .. we'll leave you with these. We are, however, taking all our bedlinen and our duvets .. we're not too sure about the sizing over there so we thought better safe than sorry. British sizing can be different, you know, than some parts of Europe."  
Paul watched Jacob talk, listening intently. Or at least, trying to. He was aware of the fact that his mind kept going off at tangents and he wasn't sure if he'd missed something.  
This was new to him.  
"Oh .. I .. I didn't know that."  
Jacob chuckled. "Like most students the majority of my stuff came from Ikea, and then I found my duvet didn't fit the covers. I'd thought it was just me."  
No. That went over Paul's head, though he smiled politely.  
Jacob was swift to pick up on the lack of comprehension on Paul's part, and dropped the subject. John would sort anything like that, Jacob knew.  
"So ... cutlery. Now .. this can be an expensive investment so we will be taking most of it with us. That's something you do need to put on your list of purchases, but unless you plan on doing a lot of entertaining I'd imagine you and John can manage with just a few utensils to begin with. We can leave you with a few pans, but again we'll be taking most of them. Rob said to tell you we'll leave you with a few odd plates and bowls as well, so you won't need to get everything all at once. How's your list going?"  
Jacob nodded in the direction of the list Paul had started, biro poised between the fingers of his left hand. Not a lot was yet written on it. Every time Jacob had suggested something Paul's mind had wandered. Prompted by Jacob, Paul glanced down at his list and realised he'd only got as far as one item. He coloured.  
"Oh, I .. er .. "  
Jacob smiled soothingly. "Not a problem. It's all a bit overwhelming, isn't it, and I'm probably going too fast. Shall I help? First, you need a set of bedcovers .. preferably two. One to wash, one to have on. Why don't you put that down?"

Paul began writing the list as Jacob made suggestions. It seemed a long list. Paul began to worry. Where would he and John find all the money for this? He didn't want John to think him a burden, but he wasn't earning much yet. Due to the curfew he couldn't teach beyond five at night because he had to be home. Once they lived here all that would change. Plus, hopefully, his sentence would be complete. Unconsciously Paul rubbed the sole of his foot against the tag that circled his ankle, feeling it under his sock, under his trousers. It had become such a part of him .. it would feel strange without it though. His life, not only over the past year, but over the last few years, had been very constricted, his circle of friends very small. In a way, that had been comforting. Now the future yawned before him .. open and .. scary. He gave an involuntary shudder. He had to do this. He had to get some courage up. He couldn't keep hiding behind John.

At Jacob's suggestion he added another couple of items .. things he would never have thought about. Dishcloths. Scourers. Weren't they always just .. there? In a kitchen? Did someone actually go out and buy them for Ritchie's little house? Now it was pointed out to him, he expected that, yes, obviously, someone did. Probably John or Ritchie. He'd never thought about such items before. Jacob watched the puzzlement chase it's way over Paul's features.  
"There's far more things to running a house yourself than you will ever have thought about" Jacob reassured him "So don't worry. It isn't until you come to furnish your own place you realise."  
Paul met Jacob's gaze, grateful for his understanding of his inadequacies. Or at least the inadequacy that Paul felt he had when dealing with life in general. Most people, he felt, would find him wanting in that direction.  
"Are you looking forward to it, Paul?" Jacob asked quietly. It was a tentative question. Jacob sensed that there were a lot of issues at stake to such a big move.  
Was he? Looking forward to it? Paul considered the question carefully. He loved John, of that there was no doubt. And to have him all to himself twenty four seven .. well, that was beyond his best dreams. But a tiny, niggling bit of Paul's mind .. the bit he tried not to listen to but that made it's voice known only too often .. told him that he wasn't good enough for John. That he'd never be good enough. Not just for John, but for anyone. For anything. He was .. hopeless. An idiot. Not worth considering. Nothing. He was nothing.  
Luke said it. Time and time again. He was still saying it. Clear as day Paul could hear his voice as if it had never stopped speaking. You're nothing. Nothing, d'you hear me? Nothing.

"Paul? A cup of tea for you. Come on, love." John's voice. Paul blinked, totally disorientated. Where was he? WHEN was he? His mind worked swiftly, travelling different thought processes to most peoples. Lying down. Somewhere soft. Not a bed. Something against my arm. Can't move it. Yes I can I'm lying on it. A settee? It's a settee. Cushions. Where ????  
"I'm really sorry .. I've no idea what happened" a different voice. He knew that voice.  
"S'okay .. don't worry. Not your fault. Sometimes he just flips." John's voice, right by him.  
Paul screwed his eyes tightly shut. He'd just embarrassed himself, hadn't he. Hadn't he? Had he??  
What was the last thing he'd been thinking of?  
Shit! Luke.  
No .. go away.  
Before that. Duvet covers. Two sets.  
Two.  
Two of them.  
Him .. Paul.  
And him .. John.  
Just the two of them.  
Two. Two thumbs.  
You could paint a smiley face on them and wiggle them and make them look like puppets.  
Not nothing. Nothing.  
Where did that come from?  
He shivered, and felt a thumb stroke his cheek.  
Or had he shivered because a thumb stroked his cheek?  
Two. Two thumbs.  
"Can I help? Can I do something?" It was a different voice again. But the same voice. The not John voice.  
The voice answered. The John voice. So close Paul could feel breath gusting across his face. "No. Just give him a minute."  
A hand cupped his cheek, the thumb pad stroking. Paul moved his arm up .. the one that wasn't squished against the back of the settee, and captured the hand that was against his face. Keeping his eyes screwed shut he felt other fingers grip his hand, giving a squeeze.  
He didn't want to open his eyes. He didn't want to know what had gone on.  
He wanted to disappear. Wished a hole would open up beneath him so he could vanish and not have to face any embarrassment.  
"I thought he must have fainted .. it was odd, though. Sort of a .. slow collapse."  
That different voice. Ah, yes. Jacob. It started to come back. Lists. He'd been doing a list. He liked doing lists.  
"Like a .. "  
"He suffers from petit mals."  
"Oh. Oh, I see."  
"Well .. not .. proper ones, as such. Well, sometimes they are, sometimes it's a bit more full-blown switch off shut down, if y' get my meaning. If he gets stressed."  
John glanced up at Jacob. "Was he getting stressed?"  
Jacob frowned. "I don't THINK so .. although he did keep .. losing focus as we went through things, but I just assumed he was daydreaming."  
Paul listened closely to the conversation, by now fully awake even if his eyes were shut.  
He heard John snort a little laugh. "Oh aye, he does that a lot. Or can."  
John was looking at him. He was looking intently at him. Paul could feel John's eyes burning through, seeing him.  
The next words were soft, spoken just to him.  
"Come on, Paulie, I know you're awake. Y' gonna sit up and have this tea that Jacob's made y'?"  
Fuck, but this was embarrassing. Paul briefly considered denying he was awake, but he had to come clean sooner or later.  
He opened his eyes to see John watching him, inches away from his face, a smile twitching on his lips. Fortunately .. Paul breathed a sigh of relief .. there was no condemnation in John's eyes. Only amusement. And a touch of something else. Something called understanding.  
"What y'doing scaring Jacob like that, eh?"  
Paul's eyes flickered across to where he could see Jacob standing, hesitating, unsure of what to do, and then back to John.  
John. Paul realised John's hand was still holding his. It felt warm. Secure.  
Secure.  
John saw Paul's eyes roll, and he swiftly caught the recumbent figure.  
"Oy, oy, come on. Now's not the time. You can't sleep yet."  
Reluctantly Paul felt himself pulled .. no, yanked, really .. up to a sitting position, and John was shaking him. Gently, but still .. definitely shaking him.  
Paul heaved a sigh, drawing a great lungful of breath in. Once. And again. He was tired. He WAS tired. He was definitely ..  
"Come on, kiddo, it's only half eleven in the mornin' .. y'can't sleep yet."  
He let himself flop forward onto John's broad chest.  
It was solid.  
And warm.  
And comfortable ...  
"This is what happens " Paul could hear John explain, though the words were muffled as he let his senses slip " .. he has an episode then he just goes .. sleeps it off."

It was fortunate, John considered, that Jacob was able to help him in the shop for a couple of hours as it turned out to be fairly busy. Jacob, in his place, had been quite bemused to observe Paul during one of his 'turns'. In the end they'd tucked a cover round him and left him to sleep. Jacob had struggled to pinpoint what exactly had set him off. And despite John's assurances to the contrary he'd also felt rather guilty about the whole episode.  
"I can only apologise, John." He offered yet another palm branch out to John during a quiet period in the shop.  
John shrugged. "Nowt to apologise for. These things happen. It's knowing what might set him off." There was a pause and John's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "What were y' talking about anyway?"  
Jacob took a step back. John had an intimidating teddy-boy aura about him and was obviously, understandably, extremely protective of Paul. What were they talking about? Jacob cast his mind back. There'd been the bedlinen, the cutlery .. ah .. then he'd asked Paul if he was looking forward to moving there .. and THAT was when he seemed to .. glaze, really .. drift off.  
John saw Jacob's realisation even before he spoke. "I .. er .. I asked him if he was looking forward to moving here. He didn't really respond .. just .. drifted."  
"Straight away?" John's voice was urgent.  
Jacob shook his head. "No. No .. it was as if he was thinking. But he never answered me .. he just stared into space for a .. oh .." Jacob clicked. "Is that what you call a petit mals? When he's not quite there?"  
John nodded, and heaved a sigh. "Yup. That's it."  
"Does it happen very often?"  
John shrugged. "He's been okay for a while, but that's the third in about four weeks. There's no pattern, really. It's just when something upsets him."  
Jacob winced. "Sorry. I didn't mean to .."  
John waved his hand dismissively. "Of course you didn't. None of us do. We don't really know what will set him off. And he's getting better ... " George's words came back to John. He looked intently at Jacob. "He is getting better. It doesn't happen as often and he recovers more quickly. I hope, in time, it'll just stop."  
Jacob nodded, and started as the door behind him opened. A bemused Rob put his head round the door.  
"Er .. we seem to have Paul asleep on our settee?" He glanced at John and Jacob who met his query with bland expressions.  
Jacob gave a graceful shrug. "So?" he replied.  
Rob raised an eyebrow but chose not to pursue the topic. He rubbed the side of his nose thoughtfully.  
"Ah! Right. Okay then. Not a problem."  
"I'll come and wake him in a bit" John added. As if this was a normal occurrence. John winced inwardly. Very little about Paul was normal.  
Rob nodded agreeably, and reversed back into the doorway he'd just emerged from.  
John and Jacob glanced at each other and burst out laughing.

It was later that afternoon when Rob, passing through the lounge, discovered he had a very confused Paul sitting amidst a throw on the settee. Rob paused in front of him, unsure what to say, and Paul looked at him with wide bewildered eyes. Silence grew. Rob cleared his throat, unnerved by Paul's silent stare.  
"Er .. you okay? Have .. erm .. have a good sleep, did you?"  
Paul blinked slowly, his eyes fixed on Rob. He had no idea where .. or who .. or what .. had happened .. or, for a moment, where he was. Although he appeared outwardly calm, inwardly he was doing a quick mental memory scan. He closed his eyes again, although remained sitting up. He needed to ground himself internally before he could cope with the external. Two sets of bedlinen. He recalled that. Why? What was that for? And then two thumbs. Two .. thumbs?? Now he'd lost himself. None of it made sense. He opened his eyes to find Rob still watching him. He shifted uncomfortably. He needed someone. He needed .. "John?" The name came out as a whisper. Almost a plea.  
Rob nodded reassuringly. "I'll go get him for you. Okay? Just .. just stay there."  
Not that Paul looked as if he was about to dart off anyway.

"Er .. he's woken up. And he's asking for you. I don't think he knows where he is." Rob stuck his head round the flat door into the shop, startling both John and Jacob. Rob tugged at his earring. "It's a bit .. unnerving, innit?"  
John put down the records he was sorting and followed Rob up the stairs.  
"Unnerving?" John queried.  
Rob glanced at him as they reached the top of the stairs.  
"Yeah .. it's like he doesn't know where he is .. or recognise me, even."  
"Ah. Right." John nodded, and headed straight towards the lounge.  
Paul was still sitting in exactly the same position although his eyes were closed. Almost as if he were meditating. Although his fingers were twining round and round in the material of the throw. John never hesitated. He strode over to the still figure, sat down by him, and pulled him into his arms. For a second Paul jumped, then relaxed, leaning in to John.  
"Hey, babe, you okay?" |John whispered quietly into the dark hair. Paul's fingers slipped round the back of John's neck and began to stroke the wispy strands of hair that lay there.  
He felt the vibration of Paul murmur something into his skin, but couldn't catch the words.  
Watching this intimate scene, Rob shuffled his feet. He felt he should leave them to their privacy, but at the same time maybe John might need some help? Something doing?  
"Can I .. er .. can I do anything?"  
John glanced at him, a smile quirking the corner of his lips. "Yeah. Put the kettle on, eh? A cuppa sorts everything."  
Paul was snuffling into his shoulder. John had to grit his teeth to stop himself from being ticklish, from moving. Paul's breath was hot, moistening John's t-shirt as he breathed out, then chilled again as he breathed back in. They were swift but deep breaths. John knew full well what Paul was doing. He was smelling him. That would have sounded odd .. really strange to mention to anyone .. but he knew Paul was working on grounding himself using John's scent. He was Paul's anchor. He knew that well.  
"Tea or coffee?"  
John unconsciously squeezed the slim body he was holding in his arms. "Tea .. definitely tea. Paul rarely drinks coffee."  
As Rob's footsteps faded towards the kitchen area Paul pulled back, his eyes scanning John's face.  
"Did I fuck up?" he enquired in a whisper.  
John smiled and shook his head. "Think you might have given Rob a bit of a scare though. What happened? Can you remember?"  
Paul shook his head. Something about bed linen and thumbs. Two thumbs. Two .. thumbs? A frown creased his forehead.  
"Two thumbs?"  
John's eyebrows shot upwards. "Two thumbs?"  
He felt Paul shrug.  
"You're a strange one aren't you?" John said fondly.  
Paul wasn't quite sure how to take that. He hid his face back on John's shoulder. Why did he do these things? And what was with the thumb thing? It was like his thoughts drifted off on unconnected paths that sometimes made sense. But it was such hard work trying. He sighed.  
"We were doing a list" he mumbled into John's shoulder.  
Aha! John became alert. He could remember that then.  
"Mmm .. I know you were. With Jacob."  
He felt Paul nod, the dark hair tickling his shoulder.  
"Of things we need to buy. Bed linen and ... and .. stuff .."  
"But not thumbs" John added teasingly.  
Without relinquishing his position Paul thumped him on the back.  
"There's a lot of stuff"  
It was difficult to decipher the words as Paul was talking directly into John's t-shirt which was absorbing the sounds. He found he was automatically stroking Paul's back, rubbing soothing circles.  
"It's gonna cost a lot.."  
"Uh huh"  
"I don't have much money .. not yet .."  
Was this the worry? John pulled back slightly, trying to see Paul. "Is this what you're worrying over?"  
Was it? Is it? Paul considered, quickly reaching back to maintain his position on John's shoulder. He didn't know. He knew he'd thought it at the time. But was that why he'd?... Looking forward to it ... Jacob had asked him ... he'd be with John all the time ... no more curfew ... no tag .. he moved his leg and could feel it, below his sock, under his trouser .. Luke .. where did he just come from? .. the tag .. because of the drugs .. and not allowed out ... Paul's thoughts tumbled in a mess that only connected randomly in his mind. They wouldn't have made sense to anyone else. Moving into the flat .. a flat ... Luke's flat ... he wasn't good enough. He was hopeless. Fucking hopeless. No good for anything, other than .. than ....  
"Paul?"  
"You won't want me."  
John blinked, bemused. What on earth was he on about now? He frowned, trying to peel Paul off him, to see him. The young man clung tightly, refusing to give an inch. God he could be tenacious when he wanted.  
"What d'you mean, I won't want you? What gives you that idea?"  
"Because I'm no good for anything."  
John drummed his fingers on Paul's back. Fucking Luke again. The bloody mind games that guy had played with Paul. When Paul started a downward spiral like this it was hard work pulling him back up out of it.  
"That's not true, Paul. And you know it. We've been through this before. Now stop putting yourself down."  
"You'll get fed up of me."  
"For fuck sake .. no, I won't. I won't get fed up of you."  
The same lines repeated. Time after time. John wondered how they were ever going to get over this.  
John was aware of Rob coming in with two cups of steaming tea, his eyes cautiously surveying the couple on the settee. He placed the cups down carefully on a low table, and indicated the door with a nod of his head.  
"I'll .. er .. just go and see if Jacob needs any help. I'll leave you to it .. unless .. can I help?"  
John shook his head.  
Rob gave a curt nod.  
"I'll be downstairs if y' need me. Take your time. No rush."  
Paul was quiet in his arms. John ran a hand over the mussed up dark hair.  
"Look, love, I don't know what's going through your mind, and I'm not asking, but trust me on this. I will not get fed up of you. Please believe me. I'm never gonna ask you to do anything you don't want to do. Not ever. Period. Okay? Paul, are you listening to me?"  
John wasn't sure if Paul was. Had he retreated into his own world again?  
"Can you tell me what it is that you're worrying about, eh? So I can help?"  
Paul was listening, even if John didn't think he was, but there were a lot of disturbing images playing in his mind. He needed to shove them out of the way in order to communicate with John, but they wouldn't go. Every time he moved one another three would take it's place. He felt as if lots of videos were all playing at once, and the soundtrack .. it was confusing. Weird sounds, dissonant, skewed. He shook his head as if to clear them, but all the ones he'd moved just tumbled back down again, making it worse than before. He couldn't handle it. Couldn't move them. Couldn't stop them. That line in his head between real/not real had become tangled and twisted. It was as if his thoughts were rushing over a chasm pulling him with them. Surely his head would burst open .. there was too much there to be contained. Someone had released a dam and the rushing torrent that ensued was pulling him along, dragging him in it's wake. He was unaware of the fact his grip on John had tightened, unaware of the fact his fingers were digging into John's arms painfully. He was unaware of John. Of everything. Just this ... cascade in his head. He wanted to scream it hurt so much.  
"I can't cope."  
Had he spoken the words aloud? Had he just simply thought it?  
"Please."  
Please let me out .. make it all stop.  
"Paul? Paul, are you hearing me? Paul .. please .. stop. Listen."  
There was a whimper of sound, but the fingers digging into John's biceps relaxed. He felt Paul go floppy in his arms. For a moment John thought he'd passed out again, but next moment he realised he was still sitting there, looking blankly at John from unseeing eyes. John pushed a lock of dark hair from off Paul's forehead. There was a gnaw of anxiety in John's stomach. This .. this was different. Paul was breathing steadily .. almost mechanically as if he was willing himself to .. but he didn't feel right. He didn't look right. It was as if he wasn't properly there. John could see Paul's chest heaving .. in, out, in, out .. and he was looking at him, but in a dazed way. As if other things were in his line of vision.  
It wasn't that John hadn't seen him like this before because he had. But not for a while. It always unnerved John. How to pull him round? John wracked his brain for something. Paul's coping mechanism .. counting .. counting .. what on earth had he said earlier? Two ..? .. two ... thumbs. Yes, that was it. John leapt eagerly on it.  
"Two thumbs, Paul, can you remember?"  
John hadn't thought it would work it seemed so .. obvious and .. daft, really. But to his surprise Paul blinked, attention caught.  
"Two thumbs, yeah?" John said again. Hoping against hope that Paul might pick up, take it on, expand.  
John wiggled his thumbs in front of Paul's face. "Look. I have two thumbs. I can make them move. Make them dance. What can yours do?"  
Jesus, thought John, I must sound so fucking patronising. This is a twenty two year old guy I'm talking to. Don't treat him like a child.  
"Puppets."  
Now it was John's turn to blink. He scrabbled to follow Paul's thought processes.  
"Puppets?"  
The sound track in Paul's head was slowing down. He repeated the word to John.  
"Two puppets?" John asked. Paul nodded. He licked his lips, trying to focus. Two thumbs. Two puppets.  
"So if I make my thumbs puppets as well, how many will we have then?" John was taking a chance here, holding his breath.  
"Four." The answer came without hesitation.  
"Two for Paul and two for John?"  
Paul's eyes travelled across John's face, searching. What for John had no idea. After scanning John's face for a moment, though, Paul gave a nod.  
"So ... what shall we do with four puppets?"  
"Put them in the red cars." John halted, astonished. Paul was scarily, frighteningly, definite in his reply. It threw John until he recalled a morning a couple of weeks before. Paul had muttered something about four red cars when he'd woken. John frowned, perplexed, but decided to play along with it.  
"Okay" he wasn't sure where this was going .. if anywhere. "So .. we put them in the red cars. Now each thumb puppet has got a red car, what shall we do? Where shall we go?"  
"We drive. Away. A long way away."  
"Where are we driving to Paul?"  
Paul blinked.  
Okay .. try another route.  
"What are we driving from?"  
"We're escaping."  
Ah ... it began to make sense.  
"And who are we escaping from?"  
A strange expression flickered over Paul's face.  
"There's four red cars" he said.  
"Mmm ... and we're driving them."  
"No. Out of the window. Eleven black, four red, two white and one yellow."  
John frowned. Where the fuck had all this come from?  
"Paul, I don't ..."  
"There was. I could see them. And a baby. And a tabby cat at four o'clock."  
"Paul, I ..."  
"There were eighteen cars altogether. It used to divide up .. I ... I used to ... play with the numbers ... divide them, and that, when ... when ..."  
Paul looked up at John, his eyes suddenly lucid. John met his gaze. There was a moment's silence.  
"Are you okay?"  
Paul frowned. "What am I? .." he glanced round, his eyes rapidly taking in the room. "Why? What was? ..where? ..did I? ..."  
John couldn't hide his smile. "Which d'you want me to answer first, babe?" Christ, he was so relieved. Heaven knows what had been going on in Paul's head.  
Paul sank his face into his hands. "What the fuck have I done?" he muttered between his fingers.  
John pulled him back into the safety of his arms. "Think you just had a moment there, that's all. Not a problem. Everything's fine. Okay? Everything's fine."

Later John tried to explain the weird episode to Ritchie as they prepared tea together. Paul was out of hearing in their bedroom, messing around on his guitar. Ritchie looked at John with astonishment.  
"He said what?"  
"He came out with this list of cars ... different colours, but he said they added up to eighteen. Oh, and a baby and a tabby cat. And two thumbs."  
Ritchie didn't know if he should laugh or sympathise. It all sounded peculiar.  
"So ... " John continued, deftly chopping an onion" ... he does all this list at me and then .. ping ..." he waved the knife in the air "... it's like he's back, switched on, and sitting there saying oh my God what have I done?"  
"Was he alright, like, later?"  
"Well, he came down and taught as usual. He seemed okay. A bit dazed, but alright, y'know. I never, honestly, know what he's gonna come out with."  
Ritchie opened a new packet of pasta, considering. "I guess it's all connected somewhere. Things that have happened or that he's seen."  
"Yeah, guess so. He was adamant about the number of cars. It certainly gave Jacob a bit of a shock, him going like that." John paused, leaning on the counter. He tapped a finger thoughtfully. An epiphany. "I bet it's to do with us moving into the flat. That's what's done it."  
Ritchie shook the pasta into the boiling water, stepping back quickly as some of the hot liquid splashed onto the counter. "I thought you said he was okay with it?"  
"Yeah. He is ... at least, he THINKS he is, but I reckon he still has doubts. It's his subconscious, innit? You know .. that bit of him that he pushes down. That's the bit that boils over every now and then ... which, by the way, is what your pasta is doing."  
"Ah!" Ritchie leapt to turn the ring down quickly. He grabbed a dishcloth and mopped up the spillage. "If y' having second thoughts, y'know, staying here's not a problem."  
John waved the knife in the air again. "No. No, we'll be fine. We need to do this. Paul needs to do this. He's gotta try and put bloody Luke Stanton behind him. The guy's running his life from beyond the fucking grave otherwise."  
"That guy's got a lot to answer for" Ritchie affirmed.  
"Mmm" John tapped the knife thoughtfully on the counter. "It was a bit odd today, though. He was well out of it. I really ... " John drew a deep breath "..for a minute or two I didn't think I was gonna pull him back. He muttered something like 'I can't cope' at one point." He suddenly looked up at Ritchie. "Ritch, what's medication like for anxiety an' that?"  
Ritchie blinked, startled by the change of direction the conversation had taken.  
"Bloody hell, John, you asking me? I'm just a porter, y'know."  
"Sorry .. just wondered, is all."  
Ritchie gave the pasta a stir. "This is nearly ready" he muttered, then looked closely at John. "If you're thinking Paul .. an' you are, obviously, I'd reckon not. The medication can take a while to work, I know that much, an' it needs to be carefully monitored to get the right dose. Also .. it has side effects. And while I'm not a specialist I'd say the last thing Paul needs in his life is another problem to deal with. Anyway ..." Ritchie switched his gaze to the pasta again, his tone lowering "Seems to me that rather than throwing pills at Paul it would be better to get him to open up .. to talk."  
John snorted. "Think I haven't fucking tried, Ritch. He's never gonna say anything."  
Ritchie came back at him swiftly. "So what's the sense of throwing pills at him then? It's all in here, innit?" He tapped the side of his head. "An' what's more he's not imagining it. It ain't that kind of mental problem. It's twisted memories he's trying to cope with and no pills are gonna get rid of them. If anything might make it worse. It's all trapped inside. Pills might just make it worse. Take away his ability to fight it, or whatever."  
John tipped the onions into the other vegetables, and glanced queryingly at Ritchie. "What d'y' mean?"  
"Well .. if the medication acts as a sedative then it's like being trapped, innit? Slower reactions, sluggish .. dunno, like I said, I ain't an expert, John, but I have worked on those wards, an' I don't see Paul as benefitting from such. By the way, this is cooked. How's yours?"  
"Nearly ready. Shall I call Paul down?"  
"Uh huh."  
"So .. you think a no go then?"  
"I'm not a doctor, John. You'd have to talk to someone."  
"It always remained an option, y'know, on his medical files."  
"Hmm .. I know. Never have, have they, though?"  
John sighed. "They don't see him when he's having a turn, though. Today was fucking scary, I tell y'"  
"They'd probably suggest a counsellor, y'know, first .. before medication."  
John's eyebrows shot up into his fringe. "He won't talk, Ritch. He won't talk."  
"Go an' get him down, John, I'm serving. An' he might, one day. Just keep trying, eh?"

"We have an invite" John waved the white envelope in Paul's face when he took the morning tea up.  
Paul struggled to sit up, pushing a tangled mop of hair out of his eyes. "Wha'?" he blearily asked.  
John bounced down on the side of the bed, passing over a mug of tea which Paul thankfully received with outstretched fingers.  
"Invite. You, me, to tea at Mimi's."  
Paul spluttered a mouthful of tea, slamming his hand over his mouth before any more spilt. NOW he was awake.  
He looked at John from wide eyes. "What? Me? Oh Jesus."  
John chuckled. "She must have been quite enamoured of you to invite us again. Told me she was going to, though."  
Paul wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "Oh mercy! I don't think I can do it again."  
"Course you can! I mean, she's already seen you at your worst."  
Paul winced at John's words.  
"When?" he whispered.  
"This Sunday. That'll be nice won't it? We could have a lazy cooked breakfast here and wander over to Mimi's and have a proper tea there. Little teeny weeny sandwiches and dainty cakes and wee cups that you can drop and break ... ey ... what you shoving me for?"  
Paul drew his knees up to his chin, balancing the mug precariously.  
"Does she really want to see me again?"  
John patted his knees, causing the mug to jiggle. "Course she does. After all, you are my significant other, aren't you? Come on, Paulie, it's nearly ten to eight. I left you a bit longer as you were fast asleep but we need to get going. Y'know how busy Fridays can be, an' now everyone has picked up on the vinyl revival we're getting busier." John stood up, and paused. "Er ... by the way ... could you hold the shop on Saturday lunchtime if I pop out to catch a drink with Stu?" John winced inwardly even as he said it. Not a good thing to ask of Paul, but ... he saw a shadow flit over Paul's face, but then, to John's surprise, Paul nodded without saying anything. John hadn't been expecting that. He perched back on the edge of the mattress, trying to catch Paul's gaze which had skittered off to a corner of the room. John stroked his hand down the covered hump of Paul's legs.  
"You sure, babe?"  
Paul wouldn't meet his eye and was chewing his lip like mad, but nonetheless he nodded again.  
John sucked his bottom lip thoughtfully. Right .. just leave it there, he advised himself. Paul had agreed, so ...  
.... he'd been expecting objections. None were forthcoming. John gave a mental shrug.  
"Fab. That's be cool. I won't be gone long .. just a quickie."  
Paul blinked slowly, still staring at a corner of their room that wasn't in line of sight of John.  
"'s'okay. S'your right." Paul sounded very definite if somewhat flat.  
John hesitated, went to say something, thought better of it, and patted Paul's knee. "Goodoh. Right, brekkie, I think, yeah? Brekkie?"

"Something's kicked off."  
John took a sip of his beer and raised an eyebrow at Stu's words. He licked the foam from round his mouth and looked questioningly across the table.  
"What d'you mean? Kicked off?"  
Stu's eyes were travelling round the room uncomfortably, unsure, yet desperate to tell John despite it being ambiguous.  
"Er .. one of the art dealers .. he's suddenly disappeared off the scene. There's .. erm ... rumours."  
John frowned. He didn't do hints and ambiguity. "What you on about Stu?"  
Stu shoved his hands in his pockets and stared directly at John.  
"That guy whose nose you broke .. he's .. suddenly not around."  
Oh! NOW John picked up the drift. "Oh yeah?"  
"Yeah. And he's not the only one. There's a couple of people I know .. well, know of .." he amended swiftly " .. who've also .. erm .. disappeared. There's rumours."  
"What kind?"  
Stu's eyes darted across to John, and back to a distant corner of the room. "That they've been picked up. Discovered. Apprehended. Whatever you wanna call it."  
John absorbed the information, ruminating on it. "Oh, right. I see."  
It wasn't quite the reaction Stu was looking for. He rounded in a low vicious whisper on John. "No, you don't see. You haven't got it, have you? These were the ones that had commented on Paul, who'd said ... said .. " Stu stumbled over the words, and dropped his voice "... things. About Paul."  
John remained calm. He knew Stu was curious about Paul, and had done the occasional dig to find out more, but John had kept him at arm's length.  
He took another sip of his beer, refusing to respond emotionally. "Good" was all he said.  
Stu blinked, surprised. He'd been bursting with the news and had wanted to see John's reaction and this placid retort surprised him.  
"I thought you'd be pleased?"  
John threw Stu an over the top smile. "Oh, I am. I am. Thanks for that info. How's your shitty paintings doing?"  
Stu's jaw dropped at the sudden switch in conversation, but he picked up quickly. After all, this was his favourite subject. Once on a roll he was away.  
John let Stu's words drift over him as he considered the news that had been imparted. So .. the buggers had been picked up, had they? Good. Either that or done a runner. Good bloody riddance.

The squad car dropped them off at the end of a busy Saturday, and John unlocked the door, gently pushing Paul in front of him. The smell of cooking greeted them, and as one their tummies rumbled.  
"Hi Ritch, we're home. Smells good" John bellowed down the hall.  
Beside him Paul was shaking himself out of his coat. Jesus but he was warm. Hadn't yet had time to get himself something lighter. A new jacket, maybe? He caught sight of his reflection, and ruffled his hair, tidying it with his fingers. John looked affectionately at him.  
"Ey, Macca, preening again, are we?"  
Paul stopped, his fingers poised above his head, and flashed John a rather shaky smile.  
Credit to him, John thought. He'd held the shop, not thrown a wobbler over John going for a drink with Stu, had carefully refrained from making any comment at all, and had remained forcibly cheerful. Forcibly being the operative word. John reached across Paul's head, grabbed his fingers, and while Paul's arm was still stretched into the air gave him a quick tickle under his arm. Paul pulled his hand away swiftly, squirming. "John!" he whined.  
At that moment Ritchie appeared in the hall. "I'm cooking" he announced.  
John's eyebrows shot up. "Oh aye? What are we having you with then?"  
"You know what I mean. I've done steak and kidney pie, new potatoes and peas. Ready in a few minutes." Even as Ritchie spoke he was eyeballing John.  
John frowned. "Okay?"  
"Yeah .. just .. thought y' might like to get changed first. Have a beer."  
"Now that's what I call a homecoming."  
"Yeah .. so .. Paul, why don't you get changed first an' me an' John'll crack open some beers?"  
Paul blinked, and paused. Unsure. Was he being got rid of? He shuffled his feet, suddenly uncertain. John had gone out for a drink with Stu and now Ritchie ... Ritchie was .. suggesting he .. go?  
John leapt in. "Good idea. You get changed first an' then I'll come up once I've got a beer. Go on, don't be long."  
He patted Paul's bottom, and Paul went immediately, if reluctantly, up the stairs.  
John's demeanour changed as he rounded on Ritchie. "Christ, mate, you're not very subtle, are you? This had better be good."  
Ritchie suddenly looked serious. "It is. Oh it is. Third page of the Liverpool Echo. Just a small paragraph. Go and have a look."  
Curious, John moved into the living room and picked up the paper that was lying there, already open on said page.  
His eyebrows slowly disappearing into his hairline he read the small but significant paragraph.

Police Crackdown on Sex Ring in City  
'Two undercover investigators revealed today that a number of prominent businessmen have been apprehended for involvement in what the police are calling "dubious sexual activities"'. The names of these businessmen have not yet been released as they have all been granted bail while awaiting trial. A spokesman for the investigation team said that the police force had been aware of what they term risky and oftimes illegal practices taking place, but that the perpetrators had been 'elusive and clever' at concealing their involvement. Acting on a tip off from an offender two investigators have spent the last few weeks infiltrating themselves into the 'sex' circle. A senior police officer said that while they are unable at the moment to divulge any more details, they are satisfied that what he termed 'abusive and illegal' practices taking place within the city have been, for the foreseeable future, curtailed. It is understood that the trial of the offenders will be taking place within the next few weeks, and that the accused will be answering also to the printing and publication of pornographic images. A police spokesman said that the police force are committed to stamping out all and any vice rings and will not rest until Liverpool is clear of such vermin.'

John lowered the paper and met Ritchie's serious blue eyed gaze. "Phew!" he breathed out.  
Ritchie nodded. "Exactly."  
At that precise moment John's phone began to ring. He pulled it out, noting it was Steve, and put it to his ear.  
"Hi, Steve .. okay?"  
Steve was straight to the point. "John, have you seen the paper?"  
John blinked, startled. "Er, yeah. Just this moment .."  
Steve cut him off. "Right. Don't let Paul see it, that's one thing. The other is, I need you to give me the phone number of that guy you said you spoke to a few weeks ago."  
Steve was very straight, very professional, barrelling on, and John struggled to keep up with him.  
"That I spoke to? Who?"  
"He told you about Paul. About what had occurred. I need his number, John, urgently. There's a big crackdown on this vice ring, and they're moving in swiftly."  
"I don't think he, er, had anything to do with it .. he said .."  
John was aware of Paul materialising at his shoulder, dressed in a clean black t-shirt and blue jeans, his eyes curious.  
"No matter. We need to interview him. He may be able to act as a witness." Paul was peering round John's shoulder, probably able to recognise Steve's voice through the phone. John angled his body away slightly. "It's imperative we speak with him. Can you text me his number?"  
John shuffled round a little more and Paul shuffled with him, like a little shadow. "Er, yeah, of course. Will do."  
"Thank you. See you Monday."  
The line went dead. Thoughtfully John snapped his mobile shut .  
"Who's that then? Sounded like Steve?"  
John met Paul's wide hazel eyes. Fuck, and the paper was still open on the settee where ... Ritchie suddenly reached in and grabbed it. The action diverted Paul's attention, and he whipped round.  
"Oh! I was just gonna read that."  
Ritchie flashed him a bright smile. "Sorry, Paul .. just in the middle of an article. I'll only be a sec, then you can have it."  
A tiny frown creased Paul's face. Was everyone acting weird today or was it him?  
John's arm snaked round his shoulders, causing yet another distraction.  
"Okay, babe .. beer? Yeah?"  
Paul relaxed into John's arms, letting go of his worries. He was sure that was Steve he'd heard on the phone, but why would Steve phone John, and .. oh, that was nice .. John's thumb ran a line up and down Paul's back, and he shivered, twisting round to meet his partner. John gave him a beaming smile and wiggled his eyebrows.  
"Hi gorgeous."  
Paul broke out into one of his megawatt smiles.


	32. Chapter 32

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Paul makes a decision. Well .. two decisions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hiya there, just a short chapter .. I had a much longer one planned but life over the next few days is looking busy busy busy so thought I'd (hopefully) make everyone's Easter and publish a little bit of fluff. Enjoy.

Paul had made a decision. He'd thought about it, considered it, viewed it from all sides, nurtured it, and then decided he could do it. He knew his friends would tell him he was overthinking things. He knew he had a tendency to do that. But then, look what happened when he didn't stop and think about things. Luke had stepped in and he'd found himself up shit creek without a paddle, and ....

Stop!!

Paul turned his head to watch the figure sleeping next to him. John was deep in slumber, gentle little purr-like snores emitting from his half-opened mouth. Paul wriggled closer, managing to nudge his nose into the crook of John's elbow and breathed in the man's scent deeply. John stirred slightly, his lips doing a little tut tut sound, and without waking murmured 's'okaybabealright'. A smile quirked Paul's lips. He loved to watch John sleep. Not that he could very often because .. well, because he, Paul, went to sleep very quickly. And then woke very slowly. But tonight, deliberating over his decision, he was awake. Well, reasonably awake. He noted the sticking up auburn hair and the lips that had pursed back into their original pout and were making those little snuffling noises again. It was, thought Paul, adorable. John was adorable. Not that he could tell him that. Oh no. What on earth would John think if he, Paul, turned round and said 'you're adorable'? He'd probably think Paul had lost it. If he didn't already. So, this decision then. He'd decided .. decided that .. he yawned widely ...

So ... this decision. Paul glanced at the clock. Ten past two. He was sure it had only been about one a few minutes ago. So .. tomorrow they were going to Mimi's for tea. Well .. it wasn't tomorrow now, was it? Tomorrow was .. well, not yet come and the tomorrow that had been was now today .. so that meant .. Paul yawned again. Where was he going with this? Oh, yes, Mimi's. This is where he is going. It was astonishing, he thought, that she wanted to see him again. After .... after what had happened. He'd totally ballsed up the original meeting. He was sure she must have put him down as lacking in social skills ... which he was, he knew. He'd lost a couple of important years of his life and things had become somewhat skewed and he wasn't sure what was polite and what wasn't, but he was trying. He really was trying. Watching how other people interacted, and things like that. So, this decision ... he yawned again and leaned into the warmth of John ...

Decision, yeah. He blinked. The room was very dark, the reflection of headlights from a passing car on an adjacent street sweeping across the ceiling like a beam ... there, gone. Paul vaguely wondered how many cars must use that street at night. After all it was only a residential area and lots of people would be asleep, not driving, at ... at ... he turned his head to see the clock .. oh, five to three? Must have dozed. So, this decision, then .. oh, another car. That made two. Maybe it's busier at night then ... maybe should count them and see. So they were going to Mimi's and she's invited them back again. Both of them. John had said Mimi had told him he was 'interesting'. Paul wasn't sure how to interpret that so he tried to be positive. Her actual words to John had been 'intriguing little friend .. is he normal?' but John wasn't telling Paul that. So he was really looking forward to going back and feeling quite confident. Maybe his behaviour hadn't appeared so odd after all. Ooh .. another car .. makes three. Three cars. Who would have thought it would be so busy. So she obviously didn't think he was hopeless. Not worth anything. Good for nothing except ...

Stop!!

Paul turned his head back towards John and buried his nose in John's armpit. The scent of the man was always stronger there. Paul idly wondered why? Maybe he should google it? He loved google .. he could look all kinds of things up on it, things like ... he yawned widely .. things like .. like .. he felt John's arm slip over him and ...

He blinked suddenly. Where was he? Oh, yeah, so ... he'd made a decision. And he was really looking forward to going to Mimi's now she didn't consider him an idiot but John's significant other and ... wow, two cars, one after the other .. that made .. er .. five, yeah? It seemed to be getting lighter .. oh, twenty to five. How had that happened? He really needed a new jacket. He didn't have a jacket. He only had his winter coat which was navy and very smart .. well, John said it was .. but far too warm for this time of year. He used to have a jacket, hadn't he? When he first met Ritchie and, later, John. He didn't have a coat then. He recalled being cold quite a lot, and sometimes borrowing George's parka. Yeah, he'd had a grey jacket, but it wore out. In fact, the sleeve had come off it in the end. Of course he'd had it a while. Luke had bought it for ...

Stop!!

Paul's hand traced it's way up John's chest and twiddled with the wiry hairs there. Yup, he needed a new jacket. In fact, they could go that morning and get one. If he got up early and did their share of the cleaning then they could go into town and he could get a jacket. And then he'd look smart for Mimi. He resolved to wake early .. well, he already was awake, wasn't he .. but if he dozed again he'd have to make sure he didn't oversleep. So, this decision .. yay, one more car. That made six. So you could halve that and have three, but three was an odd number, so maybe you'd be better putting them into pairs, but then if they didn't get on with their other half ..

Stop!!

Paul huffed a sigh. What the fuck was he going on about? Right. Be definite. Get up early. Go to town. Buy new jacket. He did have a bit of money saved. Decision .. well, that was one. The other had been .. had been .. he frowned. Oh, yeah .. that he was going to be bright and chatty and confident when he met Mimi. Everything that John would want him to be. He'd decided. He could do this. He, Paul, had made his mind up, and .. oh, another car. Now that wasn't good. What could he do with seven? He couldn't easily divide that, now could he, and if .. he yawned again .. if he .. if ...

John woke to the sound of a vacuum cleaner downstairs. He blearily peeled one eye open and looked at the clock. Eight forty-two. He shut his eyes again. Bloody hell, but it was loud. Like having a constipated fly buzzing around. He stretched his arm out to where Paul should be and found an empty space. So that explained the cleaning then. At ... he threw another glance at the clock just to be sure he'd not misread it .. eight forty three now. What the fuck was Paul doing vacuuming at this time on a Sunday morning? John heard Ritchie's bedroom door open and Ritchie shout down to Paul to keep the noise down. Paul's cheerful and unrepentant reply of 'sorry' carried up the stairs and the cleaner switched off. John screwed his eyes tightly shut and squirmed comfortably around in the bed, experimenting with different sleeping positions now there was more space.  
The door to the bedroom suddenly flung open and Paul entered bearing a cup of steaming tea .... though John was more distracted by those amazingly long legs with their forest of hairs ... so much so he had to accidentally on purpose brush his hand across them as he was handed the mug by a very wide awake and smiling Paul. What a wonderful sight at ... his eyes swivelled sideways to observe the clock ... just turned nine. Now if he could just encourage Paul to get back into bed ...  
"...so I've already done our share of the cleaning and some of Ritchie's and I've had some cereal so I'm more or less ready ..."  
John took a sip of hot tea, letting the melodious voice wash over him, one eye still on the thighs that had perched just a finger touch away.  
"....get up now."  
John blinked. That wasn't right, was it? No, of course it wasn't. He glanced up to meet Paul's beaming face.  
"Wha'?"  
" I said I've already done our cleaning and some of Ritchie's 'cos I got up early 'cos you know I was awake and John we're going to see your aunt today and I need a new jacket well I don't need one 'cos I'm going to see your aunt although it would look smart but I only have my coat and the weather is getting warm and I need to go to town so I can get a new jacket and I thought if you got up early too we could go in now on the bus I don't mind doing your breakfast and ... mmmphh .. John!!!"  
John had put his mug down and clapped his hand over Paul's mouth, effectively shutting him up.  
A slow smile crept over John's face.  
"You know, Paulie .."  
Over the top of John's hand Paul's eyes were wide and expectant, and he gave a little nod.  
"... what if I don't want to go into town on a bus on my day off."  
Paul's eyes widened, and John noted a hint of panic.  
Go in on his own and buy something??? How did you do that?? Where would he go?? He hadn't bought anything since ... since ...  
John took pity on him, and slowly removed his hand, cupping the back of Paul's neck instead, pulling him closer in.  
John lowered his voice and whispered "However ... I might be persuaded ..."  
John saw Paul's eyes change colour in that amazing way they did. Kaleidescope eyes.  
"... and if you can persuade me I might just be tempted to take you into John Lewis to have a look and if you're very, very good I might buy you lunch there too and then we can go to Mimi's from town. What d'you say?"  
Using both his hands on John's chest, Paul pushed him forcibly back down onto the bed.  
Question answered.

 

And so here they were, having got off the bus, walking side by side ... well, Paul a little in front actually as he's taking longer strides and is unconsciously leaving John behind .. who has to keep jogging to catch up .... along the avenue to Mimi's house. Paul is happy. He made one decision and it worked and it's really boosted his confidence. John can hear him humming under his breath. Always a good sign. And he looks stunning in his new red jacket, John has to admit. It really suits his colouring. And even if Paul is oblivious to the many glances that are coming his way, John is not, and he is cherishing a secret pride that this young man is his.

John hadn't realised that buying an item of clothing could be so ... problematic, though. After a wonderful making-out session and breakfast (second breakfast for Paul) they'd headed into town on the familiar green bus and John had steered Paul determinedly in the direction of John Lewis. He figured he wouldn't lose him in there. Also there would be lots to choose from .. not the cheapest but probably the best selection. So there they were in the men's department with Paul humming and hawing over various jackets ... he tried on navy and he tried on black and he tried on a grey which John found slightly disturbing but didn't know why and judging by the speed with which Paul discarded that one he did too .. but continually Paul kept going back to the red one. To John's frustration though the young man didn't try it on, just fingered it thoughtfully and looked at the price tag and winced, walked away, then went back again. It wasn't, thought John, that Paul didn't look good in any of the others ... hell, he was biased. Paul looked good in all of them ... it was just John reckoned he looked best naked. But Paul was obviously drawn to the red one.  
"Try it on, why don't you?" John called from the chair he'd sat on because, let's face facts, standing around gets tiring.  
Paul turned, startled. He'd forgotten John was there.  
He shrugged. "Too expensive." He moved on to another jacket, a silvery blue one, and tried that on. Then drifted back to the red again. After about half hour of this John had had enough. He pushed himself up from the chair and took the red one off it's hanger, thrusting it at Paul.  
"Here, try it on."  
Paul shook his head, aware of the young salesman hovering near to them, an eye on making a sale.  
"I can't afford it, John."  
"Well ... at least try it on. You keep looking at it."  
Reluctantly Paul slipped the jacket over the grey t-shirt he was wearing.  
John's breath caught. Talk about the icing on the cake. It set off Paul's dark hair and fair skin and it was like he suddenly sparkled.  
"That's very fetching on you, sir" the young salesman spoke up.  
John shot him a death glare.  
Paul didn't notice. He was turning round to see himself in the mirror. He loved the colour. He'd never had anything red .. well, not since a striped red jumper when he was about three years old that he could still recall. He spun to face John, and all John really wanted to do was take it and all his other clothes off him. But then ... John Lewis wouldn't like that, would they?  
Paul took John's sudden silence for dislike, and his smile dropped.  
"You .. you don't like it?" Paul was hesitant. He'd thought it looked okay. Good, actually, but then ... maybe he wasn't such a good judge after all and his confidence plummeted.  
John cleared his throat, giving himself a mental shake. He disposed of the pictures of a naked Paul out of his head before he could trust himself to speak. When he did his voice was all croaky.  
"Christ, Paul, it's .. it's stunning on you."   
Paul's face lit up like a Christmas tree, a smile from ear to ear. Then it dropped again almost immediately.  
"It's too dear, though."  
"It's a very good make, sir, and would last a while." The young salesman added his twopennorth, having edged closer.  
John shot him another death glare.  
"How much, Paulie?"  
Paul heaved a sigh. "It's £185.00."  
"So what's your budget?"  
Paul lowered his voice, aware of the salesman craning to hear. "About £80.00. John, maybe we should go and look somewhere cheaper .. they're all expensive ..."  
Paul never got to finish his sentence as John's voice drowned his out. "We'll take it."  
Paul started and the salesman jumped. "Why, yes, of course ..."  
"John!!"  
"..would you like it wrapped ..."  
"Shurrup Paul. No we don't, he'll wear it now .."  
"..I haven't got .. John .. it's too much ..."  
The salesman's head was spinning.   
"I'll help you pay for it .."  
"You can't do that!"  
"Why can't I? Early birthday present."  
"It's not my birthday till June .. anyway, you can't buy me this .. it's .. it's ..."  
John had his card out and thrust it at the salesman. "Here. D'you need him to take it off so you can scan it?"  
The salesman .. his name tag said 'Darren' ... nodded. "Also I need to remove the security tag, sir .. er, sirs ... otherwise the alarms will go off."  
"Right, strip, Paulie .. y' can have it back in a minute."  
Paul slid the jacket off and handed it to the salesman who could hear a furious whispered conversation going on as he walked away.  
"John, that's ..." " .. my treat .." "..too expensive.." ".. looks bloody amazing on y'.."  
John crossed over to enter his pin number at the card machine and a smiling .. or was that smirking? .. 'Darren' handed Paul the red jacket. He took it with shaking fingers ... stunned that John had done this for him .. also nervous because he remembered a time when Luke had bought him a very expensive grey jacket by Paul Smith that .. that ..   
"Okay, put it on then?"  
Paul swallowed, pushing memories away, and slipped the jacket on.  
John couldn't help but notice the sudden mood switch.  
"Ey, you alright?"  
Paul nodded, evading John's eyes.   
He was taking tiny breaths, just trying to .. trying to ... it's not the same. It doesn't mean it's going to go the same way. It doesn't have to be ..  
John laid his hand on Paul's arm. "Maybe you need lunch, eh? Hungry?"  
John's hand slid down to Paul's wrist, his thumb pad making soothing circles.  
Paul drew a deep breath. He was being stupid, wasn't he. He was just being silly.  
This was John. Not Luke. It wasn't the same.  
"Paul?"  
Paul swiped a finger swiftly under his eyes. "Sorry" he murmured, his voice a bit shaky.  
John sucked his lip thoughtfully. Something had happened.  
Beneath his fingers he could feel Paul's pulse beating rapidly.  
He became aware of the salesman watching them curiously, and swung a venomous glare in that direction.  
"What y' gawping at, eh?"  
'Darren' jumped and scurried off to a different corner of the room, and John switched his attention back to Paul.  
"Love, are you okay?"  
Paul nodded but looked anxious and John quietly hoped the lad wasn't going to have a melt down here in John Lewis. He did a fast mental re-wind in his head ... Paul had been really chirpy so what on earth had set him off? Absolutely nothing that John could ...  
"You can't buy me this jacket" Paul's voice was quiet but desperate.  
John frowned. "Can't? I already have, love, and why not?"  
Paul licked his lips. "You .. you just can't. I don't want you to. I .. I want to pay you for it. I can't do it all in one go, but I want to pay you for it."  
John wished he could see inside Paul's head. Then again, maybe not.  
"Look ... I'm not bothered about the money, Paul .. it doesn't matter, but if you want to pay me back you can, in your own time. As and when."  
Paul nodded, not meeting John's gaze.  
A couple strolling by glanced at them and then did a double take at the fact John had Paul's wrist firmly held in his hand.   
He glared at them too and they moved swiftly off.  
Beneath his thumb he could feel Paul's heart rate slowing down.  
"Are you ready for lunch?" he suggested gently.  
Paul gave a tiny nod and releasing his wrist but slipping his hand behind the small of Paul's back John gently steered him towards the escalator.  
By the time they'd made their way up to the top floor Paul's equilibrium seemed to have returned, as together they discussed the various merits of the food offered on the menu.  
John had to hide a smile because he knew, no matter how much Paul deliberated, his final decision would ...  
"I think I'll have the sausage and mash, please."  
"Righty-oh, sausage and mash it is. Would never have thought it of you, babe."  
They found space at a table near to where they'd sat just before Christmas. Then the streets below had been full of Christmas shoppers, but now, for an Easter weekend, there was bunting stretched across the streets and live performers outside. Four months, John mused, watching Paul eating. Despite the warmth of the store he'd kept his new red jacket on. Four months since they'd last been here. What a roller coaster ride it had been. Still was. John dug into his fish and chips, half an eye on Paul in case there were any repercussions, but he seemed absolutely fine. In fact, he didn't miss anything, pointing out things to John that were happening around him. John was puzzled ... it had been such a sudden mood switch over the purchase of that jacket. It had to be to do with the jacket, hadn't it. Most definitely. Still ... he did look stunning in this red one and he was getting quite a few appreciative glances from passing females. And the odd male. John hid his smile.

Paul felt really chuffed. Decision number two had been fulfilled .. purchase a new jacket. Now to his first decision .. don't fuck it up at Mimi's. Be bright, be chatty, be confident. His confidence restored, Paul waited outside the porch by John for the door to be answered. This time he wasn't nervous. He was fidgeting a bit because he never could stand still, but he wasn't nervous. No sir, not one bit. He knew what to do .. what the correct procedure was .. and he was going to put it into action.  
As Mimi opened the door Paul took a step forward, hand outstretched.  
"Hello Mimi, I'm Paul. It's really nice to meet you. How are you keeping?"  
Beside him Paul heard John snort with laughter, and he turned a bewildered glance in John's direction to see his partner dissolving in a fit of giggles.  
"Paul, she .. she already knows who you are, y'daft sod .. she.. she .. oh God .." John couldn't contain himself.  
After the initial surprise though Mimi had gathered herself together, noting the young man's disappointment and confusion. She threw a glare at John that matched his own, and stepped forward, taking Paul's faltering hand between her two strong ones.  
"Hello Paul, it's lovely to meet you again, and yes, I'm very well, thank you, how are you keeping?"  
Paul cast a triumphant smile at John and turned his attention back to Mimi. See, he wasn't an idiot.  
"I'm good, thank you. I mean .. I'm doing as well as can be expected .. no, I meant .. yes, I'm fine. Thank you. For asking, that is."  
Mimi's eyes twinkled. Oh yes now she remembered. She remembered well.  
She relinquished Paul's hand and stepped back. "Well, come in, both of you. Don't forget to wipe your feet. I'll put the kettle on. I must say, Paul, you look very smart. A lovely jacket. Is it new?"  
John swore if Paul had been a peacock he would have spread his tail at that point.  
"Yes. We just got it. We've been to John Lewis's ... and we had our dinner there." Paul unthinkingly followed Mimi into the kitchen, still chattering on. "I had sausage and mash 'cos, y'know, that's my favourite and they do a really good one there, and they had lots of jackets, I tried on different colours but I liked this one best 'cos, y'know, I've only got my overcoat, it's a nice overcoat, it's a navy one, I think I wore it last time I was here, well, yes, I would have because I don't .. well, didn't .. have anything else to wear but it's too warm for it now and so I got this."  
Paul finished his long sentence with a beaming smile.  
Mimi felt she'd been run over by a ten ton truck containing audio dictionaries.  
John leant against the counter and smiled.  
It was going to be an interesting afternoon.

Paul snuggled up against John in bed that night feeling satisfied. It was the first time he'd made decisions and been able to see them through. He had a new jacket and he'd not fucked up at Mimi's. Though he had probably, he ruminated, chewing his lip, talked a lot. He didn't remember anyone else talking much. Maybe they hadn't been able to get a word in? Maybe ...  
John's arm gave him a squeeze. "Y'okay?"  
He nodded from his usual position tucked into John's armpit.  
He wanted to know .. he wondered ..  
He felt John sigh and relax ..  
"John?"  
"Mmmm?"  
"Was I okay today? Y'know, at Mimi's? Was I alright?"  
He felt another gentle squeeze. "You were fine. I mean, she may have temporary deafness in both ears, but .. hey .. what you pinch me for?"


	33. Chapter 33

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> O.m.g. I.T. problems ... a Windows update that cleared everything out. I have sat down to re-write this in one day.  
> Dedicated to Monique who seems to be anticipating my plots.  
> Enjoy.

John was content. He figured if he were a cat he'd purr. How could it be any better than this? An Easter Monday Bank Holiday, no work, shop closed, and, what was more, the sun was shining. Streaming through their bedroom window. If he tipped his head back, right back, on the pillow, he could see blue sky. Hardly in living memory could he recall a Bank Holiday where it didn't rain. Hadn't rained. Chucked it down messing up everyone's day off sort of rain. Typical Liverpool. But not today. And the icing on the cake was the young man currently slumbering on his chest. The big bonus had been that on this lazy don't have to get up early Monday morning Paul had initiated a wonderful, equally lazy, love making session. And John loved it when Paul took the initiative. One because ... well, it always seemed to John to be more fulfilling, and two, because there was always a tiny, tiny, weeny part of John's brain that worried about taking advantage of Paul. Not today, though. 

John ran his fingers through Paul's silky hair, and the young man in question just snuggled more tightly in. He wasn't really asleep. John knew that. He was just pretending. Waiting, hoping, for John to get up and make them both a cup of tea in the way he always did. John twiddled a strand of dark hair round and round in his fingers. Today was gonna be a good day. He'd decided he was going to take Paul out. He'd checked with Steve who'd okayed it ... not too far, not too crowded, back home by six .... he figured Calderstones Park. Paul seemed to have a thing about going there. John supposed, idly, it was probably to do with his childhood, and on the Bank Holiday Monday there would be stuff going on. Stuff. John played around with the word in his head. They used it to cover lots of things. Ha! Things. There was another one. Stuff and Things. Be a good name, John mused, for a shop that sold odds and sods. Odds and sods. There was another one. He could go on like this all day. 

His thoughts were broken by Paul stirring, wriggling around, giving a little sigh. John's lips curved in a smile.  
"Want a cuppa, babe?"  
Paul peered at him through a tangle of dark hair.  
"Thought you were never gonna shift" he replied in a voice still husky with sleep.  
"I'd a shifted earlier but seem to have a weight holding me down."  
John pushed himself up suddenly and Paul slithered into the vacated space, stretching his arms, a smile lighting up his face. "Tea sounds good."  
John slapped him on his bare bottom. "That's all you want me for."  
"Mmm. That and other things."

Such great hopes John had had for the day. Of course, in his typical way, he'd not shared his plans with Paul, just expected him to mind read them. Pick them up, as it were.  
Of course, Paul didn't.  
Paul came downstairs showered, shaved and dressed with his phone in one hand, headphones in another, and a very determined look on his face. He sprawled across the settee, plugged his headphones in, and began messing with his phone. John, in the kitchen, glanced at him. Okay. Let him have a bit of space. Do what he wants, John thought. Only right.   
So John read a book. Actually, he got almost halfway through it.  
By now Paul had rolled onto his back, and was gazing at the ceiling, a far away look on his face.  
John huffed a bit, slammed his book down as noisily as he could ... paperbacks really didn't work in that way ... and stood up, fidgeting.   
Paul never noticed.  
John went upstairs and fetched his sketchpad. A reclining Paul was a rarity. John did a rough outline, and then started to fill in detail.  
Paul rolled onto his stomach.  
John gave up.  
He went and fetched their washing basket. Must be bored, he thought, as he loaded the washer.   
May as well put Ritchie's through too, as he had to work today. They were short-staffed at the hospital. They were always short-staffed, John mused. Must be a holiday thing.  
He hummed to himself as he switched the washing machine on and the sound of water filling the drum sounded through the kitchen.  
Paul was now on his side, legs hanging over the arms of the settee, his t-shirt having ridden up to offer a tantalising glimpse of abdomen.  
John drummed his fingers on the kitchen counter. May as well have an early lunch, then go out.  
He called an enquiry to Paul but got no response. John frowned. What was Paul listening too?  
He shrugged, and prepared a couple of sandwiches. Thrusting a cheese and tomato one into Paul's hands he received a muttered 'ta' and Paul shoved the sandwich into his mouth, his eyes never leaving the screen of his phone. Could have put anything into his hand, John mused. Could have put anything into the sandwich too.   
He ate his own and hummed to himself again, casting increasingly irritated glances at Paul. Was this what the parents of teenage children felt like, he wondered, when their offspring degenerated into incommunicative beings plugged into technology?  
As the clock approached one twenty John decided he'd had enough.  
He strode over to the settee, where Paul was now on his back, eyes glassy, and promptly yanked the phone out of his hands, pulling the headphone lead out at the same time.  
Startled, Paul blinked, his gaze still seeing images from the screen. "What? John, fuck, what you done that for?"  
Standing over Paul, John waved the phone in the air. "You've been on this thing for the last three hours or more. It's like living with a zombie. What you watching anyway?" he asked curiously.  
Paul heaved a dramatic sigh and flopped back down on the settee. "Watching Youtube" he muttered, sounding peeved.  
John hid a smile. The behaviour was that of a moody teenager. He should know, he'd been one.  
"What kind of things?"  
Paul heaved another sigh, as if conversation was so tiring. "Music videos."  
John raised an eyebrow. "Music videos? All morning?" Now he was piqued  
Paul rolled his eyes. "Yes, all morning, okay? I was working out some riffs."  
John frowned, looking around for an instrument but seeing none. "How d'you do that?"  
"In me head, of course."  
"Without an instrument?"  
Paul looked at John as if he were dense. "Well ... yeah! Now please can I have my phone back?"   
Paul reached up towards it suddenly, but John swiftly pocketed it.  
Paul was horrified. "Hey, y' can't do that! That's mine. Give it back."  
John perched beside Paul on the arm of the settee. "Come on Macca, I bet your mam taught you better than that. How d'you ask for things?"  
Paul studied John calculatingly, wondering how best to retrieve his most treasured possession. "Please?" he finally offered.  
John pursed his lips. "Not good enough, love."  
Paul heaved another dramatic sigh and ran his fingers through his messed up hair, messing it up even more.  
"John, I was just ..."  
"Listen, love" John suddenly sounded serious, and Paul halted, glancing nervously at him.  
"These things" he tapped the pocket where the phone lodged " are addictive. Staring at a screen all day is not good for you. Did you know it has an addictive effect on the brain as strong, or even stronger on young people, than heroin or cocainse?"  
Fuck! Shit! Wrong words to use, Lennon, even if true. He saw Paul colour and shift uncomfortably.  
John softened his voice. "Anyway, I'd thought we could go our for a bit instead. It's a beautiful day."  
Oh, a flicker of interest. "Out? But, John, I can't .."  
Paul automatically rubbed the tag that bulged from under his sock on his right leg.  
John grinned and nodded. "Oh yes you can. I checked with Steve. He said 'not too far, back for six' so I thought we'd go to the park. Being a Bank Holiday there'll be lots of things going on. Yeah?"

It was beautiful weather out, wispy white clouds scudding across a blue sky. It seemed that half of Liverpool had gone to Calderstones. It was full of families, pushchairs, dogs, balloons, chatter and laughter. A real festive atmosphere. One canny ice-cream vendor had parked his van right by one of the entrances, a long queue of excitable children and harassed parents trailing from the serving hatch.  
"John, there's an ice cream van" Paul hissed, as if John hadn't noticed the blue and yellow vehicle.  
"Mmm, so I see" John teased. He kept his eyes firmly fixed ahead as they approached the gates but he could feel Paul's hopeful glances burning into him.  
"John?"  
John succumbed. "Fucking hell, it's like taking a two year old out. I suppose you'd like one?"  
They joined the straggling queue and John hid a smile at Paul's excited shuffle.   
It seemed to take forever to reach the front of the line with Paul twisting and turning and craning his neck to try and work out if the van would still have ninety-nines left by the time it was his turn. Finally they reached the serving hatch and John dug into his pocket for loose change. Paul reached out and took the offered ninety-nine, clutching the cornet in his hand as if it were the best thing since sliced bread. John decided on a Twister, it being less ... messy??? He glanced in alarm at the rivulets of ice cream that were already beginning to run down the sides of the cone. However, Paul seemed content, and John figured stained clothing would be a small price to pay for the smile that was currently blossoming across his partner's face. They fell into step together as they entered the park, Paul making slurping noises as he licked the swiftly melting ice cream with the chocolate flake stuck in the top.  
"Oooh, look. Summat going on over there."  
Paul glanced up, following John's pointing finger. There was a huddle of people on a patch of grass, and an area had been cordoned off. Some music was playing and odd flashes of blue and red could be seen.   
"It's a gymnastics display" John affirmed.  
They shuffled to the front to afford themselves a better view. John was riveted by the flexible talent displayed by some of the athletes. How people even managed to do half of this stuff was beyond him. He threw a calculating glance at Paul. He was fairly lithe, wasn't he. He wondered how flexible he might be. Paul, totally oblivious to John's wandering thoughts, licked the remaining strands of melted ice cream off his finger tips and gave a contented sigh.   
"You, er, ever thought of doing things like this Paul?" John enquired innocently.  
Paul, lost in an ice cream haze, blinked stupidly at him.  
John shook his head. "Never mind." He finished the last of his Twister and thrust the stick into his pocket to be disposed of later.  
A young troupe of about ten years old came on and did a riveting display of cartwheeling and rolls. Everyone applauded.  
Paul gave a contented sigh and leaned his head on John's shoulder. He was jerked violently out of his reverie as John moved swiftly away from him.  
"Not here, Paul, not now!" John hissed.  
Paul coloured and mentally curled up. He hadn't thought .. not for a second .. he'd been happy ... it was the natural thing to do .. he'd just fucked up, hadn't he?  
John moved swiftly back to his side, keeping a strategic gap.  
"S'okay, love, it's just ... not here, alright?"  
Paul nodded, biting his lip. John glanced around. No one seemed to have noticed Paul's faux pas.  
"Let's walk a bit further, eh? There's bound to be lots of things going on."  
Paul fell into step beside John, maintaining the gap John had set. Overtly conscious of not messing up again.  
"St. John's Ambulance, look." John pointed out a tent. "Handing out plasters and lollipops, eh?"  
He was working at getting that smile back on Paul's face.  
"Oh, look. Balloons. Disney filled helium ones. Do you want one?"  
Paul frowned at him. "I'm not two, John."  
John shook his head sagely. "No, you're not, are you. Sometimes I have to remind myself that you're growing up."  
He ducked as Paul took a swipe at him.

On their journey across the park to the lake they managed to eat their way through a bag of popcorn, a bag of chips each, a couple of ice lollies and finally halted at a vendor selling tea in cardboard cups.  
"Better for the environment" Paul told John as they sipped them. "There's too much plastic around as it is."  
John blinked at him in surprise. He had supposed Paul's head to be full of nothing except music.  
"We can take it home and re-cycle it."  
"Can we?" John asked, bemused.  
Paul looked at him in astonishment. "Well, yeah, course we can. I'll put it in with ours."  
"Oh right." John felt slightly awkward. He had no idea of the re-cycling facilities at their house. He just sort of left things on the kitchen side and they just sort of disappeared.  
"I didn't know you were into all that environmental stuff Macca."  
Paul looked at him from under his lashes. "There's a lot you don't know about me" he said profoundly.  
John wasn't quite sure how to take that.

They hired a boat on the lake and had an hilarious time trying to row in a straight line. Their first few attempts and it went in circles. Finally John managed to get the hang of it and proudly propelled them around, deftly avoiding other rowers. Paul began serenading him with an old song 'Messing about on the River' that he'd once learned for a junior school concert. Ten minutes later he was hassling for a turn at the oars.  
"D'you know how to do it?" John asked smugly, having been the master of the art of rowing for almost a quarter of an hour now.  
Paul looked at him speculatively. "No, but if you can do it I should think I can."  
While John tried to work out if that was a compliment or a snub Paul had deftly moved in and was removing the oars from John's grasp.  
"It's hard work, y'know."  
Paul slipped off his new red jacket, passing it to John.  
"I know."  
"I mean, you know, in your delicate state..." John trailed off.  
Paul raised an eyebrow. "What delicate state?"  
John pursed his lips and patted his own abdomen. Paul got the meaning.  
"I'm sure I'll be fine."  
"They said not to put any strain."  
"I'll be fine, John" and to prove it Paul put his back into rowing, completely missed the water with the oars, and ended up falling off the seat. In complete giggles of laughter John helped pull him back up, and was suddenly struck by the warmth and familiarity of Paul's wrist in his grasp. God but he loved this lad.  
"I'm okay, I'm okay. I know what I'm doing. Well, no, I don't, but I'll learn."  
A few minutes later Paul was rowing them around as if he'd been doing it for ever.   
"How can something that looks so graceful" he hauled on the oars before he finished his sentence and the boat nosed forward a few more feet " .. be such bloody hard work" he finished, pausing to wipe a bead of sweat off his forehead.  
John grinned at him. "Ah, man's work, this is."  
He knew it would wind Paul up. "Meaning?"  
"Know your place, son. Ey, stop flicking water at me, you'll ruin your new jacket. Here, come on, let me do it now. Seriously, love, I don't want you doing any damage. You've got that hospital appointment coming up in a few weeks."  
"Two months, John. Two months. That's ages, and I don't want wrapping in bloody cotton wool."  
"No, maybe you don't" John had lowered his voice, and Paul was suddenly struck by the concern displayed "but all the same .. let me do it now."  
Paul gave a little sigh but meekly passed over the oars.  
John glanced at his watch. "We're gonna have to head back soon anyway, and we're the far side of the park. You okay to walk? Not too tired?"  
An indignant look crossed Paul's face. "I'm not a fucking invalid, John."  
John put his hand up. "Okay, okay. Just asking is all. It's coming up to five o'clock now so we're really gonna have to leg it."  
Paul leaned back in the boat, crossing his arms smugly. "Yeah, well, like you point out, I've got the longest legs."

When they arrived back it was to the smell of fish and chips.  
Paul couldn't believe that after all the crap he'd eaten that day he'd be hungry yet, but his stomach gave a sudden rumble at the appetising smell.  
"Woah! What's cookin' Ritch?"  
Ritchie appeared from the direction of the kitchen, wreathed in smiles. "I finished early so picked some fish an' chips up, just got 'em keeping warm on a low heat till you came back. Y' had a good day?"  
John peeled his denim jacket off, putting it with Paul's in the closet.  
"Great. Been the park, ate everything, took a boat out, an' then legged it back."  
"You'll be glad o' this then?"  
Ritchie handed them each an opened beer and their eyes lit up.  
Paul took a deep swig from the bottle, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "This has been the best day ever" he stated to no one in particular.  
John glanced at him in surprise then realised he was serious. He grinned at Ritchie. "Comes cheap, he does!"

Tuesday was quiet at work. As John pointed out to Paul quite a few businesses would still be closed, using Tuesday as an extra holiday. Paul nodded in agreement as he sorted a pile of unsold singles that had hung around for far too long. He eyed them thoughtfully, debating what to do with them, as he munched his way through an Easter egg that had been left for them both from Rob and Jacob.   
John looked at him calculatingly. "You'll spoil your dinner, you will, eating that now."  
Paul's thoughts had been elsewhere ... namely how to move on records no one wanted ... and he started, considering John's statement. It took him a long time. In fact, John had shrugged and assumed Paul wasn't going to reply and had returned to his stock-taking when Paul suddenly said "No, I won't."   
John blinked, glancing back up as Paul went on to pop another piece of chocolate in his mouth, the topic, as far as he was concerned, closed.  
"If I ate chocolate at the rate you do I'd be as fat as a pig" John muttered.  
Paul caught the words and cautiously raised an eyebrow. Oh oh! Something going on here. Warning bells rang. Shuffling so that his stooping back was all Paul could see of John from his position he heard John mutter some more. "... time I could eat for England, but not now .. now it all just sticks, an' in the wrong places ...."  
Paul blinked and slowly swallowed the piece of chocolate that was currently gluing up his mouth. "Thinkyrlovlsyoare."  
John swung round with a grin. "What?"  
Paul cleaned his mouth with his tongue and tried again. "I think you're lovely as you are."  
John wiggled his eyebrows in response, but there was a downturn to his mouth. "Love me food, Paul, and when I was younger I could shove anything in, but not anymore. I'm fat."  
Paul's mouth dropped open comedically. "What? No you're not. You're .. you're ... " he searched for a word that would not be insulting, and settled on one " .... sturdy." Fortunately he didn't see John wince. That was how Mimi had described him. Paul carried on, unawares. "You make me feel safe, and .. and protected." A blush stained Paul's cheeks, and he swiftly turned back to the records. God, John would think he was such a bird.  
"It's okay for you to talk" John said emphatically " you .. you're .. all willowy and Bambi like."  
Now it was Paul's turn to be affronted. His eyebrows shot up into his fringe at an alarming rate.  
"What's the matter with you today?"  
John shrugged. "Just .. jealous, I guess."  
"What? What of? Me?"  
"I'm jealous that you can eat whatever you want and never put on an ounce. It's just not fair. You eat far more than me .. well, when you remember, leastways. You don't know what it's like to be 'sturdy'" John threw Paul's word back at him.  
Paul unthinkingly broke off another piece of chocolate. "I do, actually" he said, before popping it in his mouth.  
Now it was John's jaw that dropped. "What?"  
Paul picked up one of the singles and eyed it thoughtfully. "When I was younger, in my teens. I used to get called fatty. Hated it. Don't know where all the weight suddenly came from but I just ballooned." He looked across at John. "Don't believe me, ask George."  
"Well .. bugger me." John eyed Paul curiously, trying to envision a chubbier image. "How'd you get rid of it then?"  
Paul shrugged. "Dunno. Things .. happened, I guess. Mam died, an' .. an' .. things ..." There was a shrug of slim shoulders and Paul turned away.  
Well. There was a revelation. "An' there was me always thinking you'd been a Bambi" said John.  
"Like I said yesterday, there's a lot you don't know about me." Paul's words had a finality to them.  
John gave a wry smile.

All three of them were crammed into the tiny kitchen clearing up after tea. Ritchie was at the sink, washing up, John, wielding a tea-towell, was drying and passing crockery to Paul to put away. John had them in gales of laughter as he fooled around, pretending the cutlery was talking to itself. Ritchie, scrubbing hard to get the remnants of cheese off a plate, realised how much he would miss these two when they left. They'd formed a tight bond, originally to protect Paul, but it had expanded .. they were now so fond of one another. He was looking forward to getting married, to have Lottie here with him, to having a family, to their future together. But oh, how he would miss John and Paul. Currently Paul had collapsed in giggles at something John had said and was clutching the side of the kitchen cabinet, trying to catch his breath.  
Then the doorbell rang.  
Paul stopped immediately, and took a step back, and another. Trying to immerse himself into the shadows.  
John and Ritchie looked at each other. Who would be calling at almost eight o clock at night? They didn't get visitors. They just didn't ...  
"I'll go" Ritchie said brightly, drying his hands on the tea-towel John was holding.  
Trying to get normality back John passed Paul a small pyrex bowl "Here, put this away."  
Paul reached out for it without relinquishing his position next to the back door. John could read only too well Paul's flight mode.  
A murmur of voices from the front door, then Ritchie's voice. "John, it's for you."  
He saw the panic in Paul's eyes and threw him a comforting smile along with the tea-towel. "Here, carry on drying up, okay? Only be a sec."

Over Ritchie's shoulder John could see the silhouette of a uniformed police man, and not one he recognised from the lifts that were currently provided either. Alarm bells began to ring, although he didn't know why. He'd not done anything. Neither had Paul. So what...?  
On seeing him appear the policeman stood up straighter. "Mr. Lennon?"  
John nodded. He could feel Ritchie's eyes on him, curious, concerned.  
"Mr. Lennon, I need you to accompany me to the station, if you would, please. We have ..."  
The policeman never managed anymore words. Like a miniature tornado Paul was there, in front of John, shielding him, a small bundle of ferocity and determination.  
"No. No, you can't take John. You can't. No."  
The policeman stepped back, alarmed. This was a delicate mission he was on, and he'd not expected any problems, really. He wasn't prepared for this.  
John was equally taken aback by Paul's passion.   
"Paul, it's ..."  
"No!" Paul rounded on him. "No, John. You're not going. You can't. I ..I can't .."  
Ritchie stepped forward, placing his hand comfortingly on Paul's arm to calm him, but Paul shook it off angrily.  
John saw the policeman glance behind him, saw the shape of someone else materialising, and then Steve was there.  
"Paul, Paul, calm down, listen to me."  
Paul had effectively thrown himself in front of John, but at Steve's voice he halted, still defensive, but listening. He was making a spectacle of himself, that he knew. He was well aware, but they couldn't take John. They just couldn't. If they took John, what would he do? How would he survive? And if they wanted John, well, it was bound to be his, Paul's, fault, wasn't it? It was always his fault. He always fucked things up.  
Steve cautiously placed his hand on Paul's arm and could feel the young man trembling.  
"Paul, listen, we just need to talk to John"  
"No!"  
"I think yes, Paul, it's really important. Really important. Do you understand me?"  
Paul licked his suddenly dry lips. He didn't care what anyone thought. He didn't care if they put him down as a lunatic. It was imperative he keep John safe.  
"Is it my fault?"  
Steve sighed. He hadn't wanted this. He shook his head. "No Paul, it's not your fault. It's nothing you've done, or John. Okay? We just need to talk to him. It is urgent, though."  
Paul was still keeping an effective barrier, but Steve could see him weakening.  
"But it's to do with me, though?"  
Steve temporarily closed his eyes. He'd hoped Paul wouldn't ask that question. He opened them again and looked intently at the young man in front of him. He couldn't lie.  
"Yes. Yes, it is to do with you."  
The policeman at Steve's elbow shifted, aware of the time. "Sir, we need .."  
Steve held a hand up to halt him, and turned to face him. "Let him come."  
The police officer's eyes widened. "But ..."  
"I'll take responsibility. Just let Paul come too. He can wait with me." He turned back to face Paul. "Okay? Is that alright with you Paul? You can come with John, but you must wait with me while they talk to him. Agreed?"  
Paul let his arm drop, allowing access to the house and John.   
He was tired. It was so demanding. So draining. But if he could go with John. Stay near him. Whatever this was about.  
Ritchie quietly fetched their jackets from the closet and handed them to Steve, who offered him a smile.  
"We'll be back soon. This shouldn't take long."  
What, John wondered bemusedly, as he slipped his jacket on, was 'this'?

As they entered by a back entrance the police headquarters, a big man in uniform sitting behind a desk stood up. At the same moment John noticed two guys who were dressed casually who had been chatting when they entered cease their conversation and glance over at them curiously.  
"Ah, Mr. Lennon, and ..." he looked closely at Paul who was firmly attached to John's hip. Steve strode over and whispered something to the uniformed officer who seemed to be in charge, and he blinked, and took a second look at Paul, who met the man's gaze with a tilt of his chin.  
"Right, I see. Well .. he will have to stay with you. You can use the holding room if you like. Not very comfortable, I know, but I'll have some tea sent to you. Now ... Mr. Lennon?"  
John stepped forward. Paul stepped with him. The two men in plain clothes also stepped forward. It was like an orchestrated dance, John thought drily. Then Steve stepped forward too and laid his hand on Paul's arm. He could feel the resistance.  
"Paul, you agreed, remember? John won't be a moment." Paul moved away reluctantly. An inch. Another inch. A step. Then he was gone.  
John suddenly felt bereft.  
And nervous.  
Why was he here?  
One of the plain clothes men in front of him, hand outstretched. "Mr. Lennon? My name is Tom Carter. I've been working on a case that is, I think, of particular interest to you. We are hoping that you can now be of help to us."  
John looked wordlessly at him. Had he lost all power of speech? Was the guy hoping for a response?  
Now the other one stepped forward. "Hello, John. May I call you John? I'm Sean. Something has come to light today and before a case is opened in just over a week's time we need some enlightenment. It's been suggested you are the best person to talk to. Would you like to come through?"  
Sean stepped back, arm flung wide, and John realised that where Sean and Tom had been standing a few minutes before was a closed door leading to another room. Sean opened the door ans entered, indicating that John should do the same. As he passed the threshold he was aware of Tom falling in behind him and the door closing.  
It was a small room, barely big enough to swing a cat in, empty except for one chair and a desk on which was a large brown envelope.  
John's heart began to race. It was something to do with the envelope, wasn't it. That was why they'd brought him here.  
He didn't want to know.  
He suddenly, really did not want to know what was in that envelope.  
A voice was speaking to him .. calm, low, and he tried to concentrate .." have just come to light. The case opens next week. We have no idea, but it was suggested you may know. If you can give us any help."  
He blinked stupidly at Tom who'd been speaking. What had they said?  
He saw the two of them exchange a grim smile, and Tom explained again, slowly, indicating the envelope. "These images have just come to light. They are possibly two or three years old. I have to say ..." he looked closely at John " ... they can be disturbing. We need, in order to properly prosecute, some idea of who .. well. Let me put it this way. If you can recognise, from the images, who it may be, we would be eternally grateful, and it would enable us to begin putting a halt to anything like this happening again. Would you be willing to look at them for us? We can't make you, obviously, but .."   
"Yes" John's voice was croaky. "Yes, I'll look."  
"And, if you recognise?"  
John nodded.  
He took a step forward.  
He shook the grainy black and white images out of the envelope, his eyes falling on the first one he held in his hand.

He knew Paul.  
He knew every inch of his body.  
Every curve and plane.  
Each freckle and dusky hair.  
From the slender column of throat to the dip of the collarbone.  
From the graceful ankle to the high arched foot with the long toes.  
From the bony wrist to the thin fingers.  
But it was the leg that did it.  
Of everything it was a leg.  
The room spun round him and his knees began to buckle.  
He wasn't sure if he'd said it or thought it before someone caught him as he went.  
"It's Paul."


	34. Chapter 34

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So .. just a short chapter 'cos I know there's a few readers waiting for the next bit!!   
> Next update should be quite soon.

John's senses slowly returned, like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle slipping into their spaces.  
He became aware of a hand gripping his shoulder, firm and strong, as if to ground him.  
Then voices ... muffled, as if he was underwater ... gradually becoming more distinct. Producing definite words.  
" .. out of sight ..." "... a hot drink..." "... shock..."  
Were these words anything to do with him?  
And his hands. He had them clasped tightly between his knees. They were trembling. He could feel them.  
Like a dizzying force slowing down everything came back into focus.  
Tom. That was his name. Tom.   
He was gripping John's shoulder and intently surveying him from compassionate eyes.  
"John? Are you okay?"  
John didn't think he had a voice.  
If he had, it had gone.  
Disappeared.  
A pair of trousered legs materialised in his vision and a hot mug of tea was thrust into his hands. He could feel the warmth through the china seeping into his fingers.  
"Just take a minute. Just have a sip. Slowly, now." It was a different voice.  
Sean. That had been his name. Sean. Sean and Tom. They'd introduced themselves.  
He was here because ... fuck!!   
His hands shook and some of the tea spilled as his memory returned.  
The photograph.

As the image that was burned into his brain re-appeared before his mind's eye, he could hear a whispered conversation going on.  
He glanced at the table. The envelope was now on the other side, the images hastily interred.  
Paul.  
John closed his eyes.

Someone cleared their throat. It was an 'I need your attention' kind of throat clearing.  
John wasn't sure if he could handle it.  
"John?" It was a query.  
John gritted his teeth.  
He had to do this.  
He had to do it for Paul.  
He opened his eyes and met again Tom's concerned ones.  
The weight had gone from his shoulder and Tom was now perched on the desk facing John.  
In the guy's face John could see only compassion.  
Tom gave a grim smile and a nod once he knew he had John's full attention.  
"I'm sorry. It was a shock. I realise that. Just take a moment John to get your breath back."  
From the corner of his eye John saw Sean push the brown envelope off to one side.  
"Bastards" John muttered. He hadn't been sure if his voice would work or not. It came out as a growl.  
"Have a drink. It might help." Tom eyed John cautiously, assessing.  
Sean too was hovering.  
It wasn't over yet. John knew it wasn't.  
John heaved a sigh and held out his hand for the envelope. Tom and Sean gave a swift glance to each other.  
"Are you sure?" Sean's voice had a slight Irish lilt to it that gentled the Scouse accent. In some ways it reminded John of Paul's voice. There were certain words in Paul's vocabulary that had the same soft Irish tinge to them.  
"I'm fucking sure" John snarled.  
Tom raised his eyebrows, but waved his hand to Sean to hold on. Sean paused, envelope in hand.  
"John, it's not easy doing something like this, I know. We ..." he nodded in Sean's direction "have handled some horrific cases in our time. If it helps, I want to pass on to you a few pointers we were given that can help. It doesn't remove the seriousness of a case ... of any case ... but it does help you to study it more .. dispassionately. To remove yourself from it, as it were. The most important thing to remember is that the images you are looking at .. it's not happening now. It's happened. Over, gone and done. It's only too easy to get drawn in and overwhelmed. Just step back. This is evidence of something that happened, not is happening. Hold on to that thought. Do you understand what I'm getting at?"  
John nodded.  
Yes, he did get that.  
It was only too easy to feel guilty. To feel overcome by it all. What Tom said made sense. He tried hard to ingest it.  
"Yeah. Yeah, I get it." He nodded again. "Makes sense, I guess, otherwise no one would ever be brought to trial for things like this."  
Tom looked relieved and let out a small sigh, glancing at Sean as he did so, as if seeking affirmation that it was going in the right direction. Sean handed the envelope back to Tom who dallied it between his fingers, his eyes lingering on John, again assessing, wondering, would he, could he?  
"There's another thing. It may help. Just to bear this in mind, having looked at these photos ourselves. If it helps you manage a little easier .. the young man in question in these " he tapped the envelope against his knee, his eyes never leaving John, holding him, desperately trying to convey by more than just words " .. it's highly unlikely he knew much of what was going on. From his eyes in one of the photos it's pretty obvious that he's been drugged..."  
John didn't hear the rest.  
He remembered Mark.  
Mark's words.  
"...they gave him something to keep him quiet ..."  
John must have said it out loud.  
Tom's head shot up and Sean started, standing up straighter.  
"What?" Tom asked, his eyes wide.  
John repeated it.  
"How do you know?"  
John shrugged. He felt awkward. The information had been passed to him confidentially.  
"Someone I knew who'd been there when .. when it .. when they .." John couldn't frame the words.  
Even now what he'd been told horrified him. And to see it in black and white?  
He shuddered.  
Sean mentioned a name ... Mark's name ... and John nodded.  
They almost looked relieved.  
"Ah, sure, he was interviewed " Sean supplied. "And a great help. A great help he was."  
John nodded.  
"He didn't get in trouble, did he?"  
Tom shook his head. "No, no worries there. We still have his contact number though as he agreed to be a witness at the proceedings."  
John's heart gave a little bump.  
At the proceedings.

John thrust his hand out for the envelope.  
If Mark could do this, and he was nothing, really, to Paul ... then so could John. Even more so.  
With a frown of concern that John didn't see Tom placed the envelope into his hand and John shook the contents out once more.  
Incriminating evidence.   
This is what they were.  
He steeled himself to look at the first one that was on the top.  
It was different to the previous one he'd looked at as the order had been mixed up when they had been hastily returned to the envelope.  
Dark hair, soft, falling into hooded eyes ... this one must be the one they'd mentioned then. Paul's eyes but ... not Paul's eyes. The pupils huge, the eyes glassy, unfocused.  
Tom placed his hand over the photo.  
"Don't dwell on them, John .. just tell us if it's Paul and then pass on. Don't dwell."  
John nodded and licked his dry lips. Don't dwell. Don't look. At least, not properly. Not at the detail.  
He slipped it to the bottom of the pile and moved on.  
Don't dwell, John, he told himself. Or was it Tom speaking again? Don't dwell.   
Bony wrists .. Paul had such bony wrists .. always .. nails bitten down, those long fingers .. tied .. no .. move on ...  
John gave a nod and passed on to the next one.  
That slender column of throat, the dip of collarbone with a dusting of fine black hair .. don't look .. move on ..  
John spun them between his fingers quickly, deliberately not looking too closely other than to ascertain it was Paul. They were all Paul.   
Every fucking one.  
With a quiet detachment John neatly stacked the photos together and placed them back into the envelope, aware of the fact that Sean and Tom were watching him closely.  
He handed the envelope to Tom, who was nearest.  
His voice was heavy with despair. "They're all Paul" he told them.  
There was no surprise evident in their features, just a quiet acceptance. It was what they'd expected.  
"Thank you John" Tom said.  
John gathered his scattered wits. What now? Was that it? Just .. go home? Forget about it?  
Tom stood up straight facing John.  
"Would you be prepared to witness to this fact in court under oath?"  
A chill ran over John. Like icy water.  
"What about Paul?" John whispered.   
Sean's soft voice cut in. "We don't intend to involve him. We've been told it would not be good for his health. His mental health" Sean clarified.  
John nodded. Too fucking right it wouldn't be.  
"And ... would he be told I'm doing this? What I'm doing, y'know? Will he know? Will he be aware?"  
John looked up in time to catch a look that passed between the two men. A look. Just a look. A glance.   
What were they thinking?  
"That's up to you" Tom replied gently. "If you don't want him to know, that's ... okay, y'know. Understandable. He won't be contacted by us. His identity will remain hidden. But ... we really need you, if you would, to testify. If you really want to help Paul ...." Tom's voice trailed off suggestively leaving John to pick up the bait.  
Of course he wanted to help Paul. Of course he wanted to see these bastards nailed.  
"What about my identity?" John's voice was flat, the way he could make it sound when he was giving nothing away.  
There it was again. That exchange of looks.  
This time it was Sean.  
"You can remain anonymous as regards any publicity relating to this case. Of course, in court the options are, er, rather different. But ... well, no one can make you. We can only ask, as it were, if you'd be willing. It would be a select audience you'd be speaking to. Ah .. not speaking, exactly, just ... answering. Sorting a few points, as it were." Sean fidgeted, awkward. "Up to you, John. This has been a tough case for us to crack. Any help is appreciated. We appreciate this, y'know, you coming here tonight, like, and .. viewing these, er, images. Not easy, we know. You are under no obligation, no obligation at all to do anything. Anything you do is up to you. Your choice, John. Absolutely your choice."  
Sean fidgeted a little more, then leaned back against the wall, his arms folded.  
The brown envelope lay untouched on the desk.  
A silent reminder.   
This is what it all boiled down to.

John closed his eyes.  
He'd flicked so quickly through the photos they were a blur in his mind.  
Maybe it was better that way.  
He rubbed his eyes, suddenly bone weary.  
"I'll do it" he said.  
He could almost feel the atmosphere shift, suddenly charged.  
"That's great, John." Sean's voice again, sounding more Irish than Scouse as the evening had progressed.  
"You won't regret it. I promise you. And your name will remain confidential. I promise you that too."  
John blinked as he beheld Tom's hand proffered in a grateful gesture. "Thank you, John. Thank you very much for your assistance. We will be in touch. Now, if you feel up to it ... if you're okay, we'll return you to Paul. If you want a minute or two to get yourself together, well, that's fine too. Whatever you want, John. Just say." 

Just say.  
When things have changed so much?  
After what he's seen?  
How can he go back?  
The John that walked through that door has gone.  
A life-changing moment.  
Did that now put him alongside Paul?  
Always full of things best forgotten, things best not remembered, things best not spoken about.  
His heart was heavy. Too full of things he'd rather not have known.  
He sure as hell wasn't going to be able to walk away from them.  
Return him to Paul?  
What the fuck was he going to tell the lad?  
Oh I've just seen photos of you in compromising situations?  
Fuck!  
John rubbed the heels of his hands into his eyes, screwing the sleep away, dispersing the images.  
Paul would be waiting for him, wondering. Wondering where John was, what he was doing, why they'd wanted him.  
The lad knew it was something to do with him.  
And he'd be worried.  
It suddenly hit John. Paul would be worried. Unsure.  
Afraid. Afraid for his future.  
He must have lived years of his life with this uncertainty.

John had to get back to him. Reassure him.  
Whatever. Whatever had gone on John still cared for him. Still wanted him.  
He rose swiftly to his feet, the most urgent thing in his life at that moment was to get back to Paul.  
"I'll go back to Paul now" he told the two men.

The holding room was exactly that ... a holding room. One bench, hard. One rail in case someone needed handcuffing to it while they cooled down. Nothing else.   
Unless you counted the chamber pot in case of emergencies.  
To make Steve and Paul feel less like criminals the door had been left open so they could watch the comings and goings of the reception room. And they'd been served with tea. And biscuits. Paul had eyed the biscuits up. Plain ones. Digestive. Not chocolate. They couldn't be that important as visitors then. And tea served in thick white china cups that held a cardboard taste to it.  
Paul took a sip and tactfully placed the cup at his feet, nudging it underneath the bench with his heel so it would look as if he'd forgotten about it. Steve offered him a biscuit but he shook his head. No, he wasn't hungry. He'd not long eaten. They all had. John had been joking with him and Ritchie, and he'd been laughing so much it had hurt his sides ... and then the doorbell had rung.

Paul's eyes slid sideways to glance at Steve.  
He'd said it was something to do with Paul.  
Paul's heart beat increased and his mind was racing.  
His brain was a whirling carousel of thoughts, ideas, could be's, what if's, maybe's, but the centre ... the centre of his mind was calm. Icily calm. Preparing to be rejected. Preparing to be no longer wanted. After all, why would anyone want him after everything that had happened. Nothing. You're nothing.  
The voice appeared from nowhere, clear as day. A mocking edge to the tone.  
Who'd want you? You're nothing.  
Paul shifted, uncomfortable, and Steve glanced at him in concern.  
"You alright, Paul?"  
Paul didn't reply because Paul didn't hear.  
He'd started to build walls. Those walls that John had carefully destroyed one by one.  
He had to construct them again.  
He scrabbled around in his mind trying to collect the scattered pieces.  
John had done a good job of destroying them. They were now so scattered he couldn't recall how he'd done it. What went first. He chewed his lip and started at the taste of blood. How was he going to do this? He didn't know where to start. How to begin to protect himself again? He had to do it quickly, though, before John came back in and said he no longer wanted Paul because ... because ... Paul's head started up. What were they doing? What were they telling him? He swallowed, ignoring the lump in his throat.  
"I .. I need a pee." It was all he could think of to say.  
Steve looked at him in surprise. Until that point Paul had been uncommunicative. Steve was relieved to hear a normal request.  
"Of course. Come on, I'll take you." Steve stood up.  
Paul rose to his feet too. "No, no, it's okay, just show me where."  
Steve's eyes narrowed suspiciously. There was an unnatural brightness to Paul's eyes and he looked somewhat distraught. Alarm bells rang.  
His next words were authoritative and Paul had to succumb. "No, Paul, you won't be allowed on your own. I'll stay with you. Come on."

Paul slid the bolt closed on the tiny cubicle and sat on the lid of the toilet seat, raking his fingers through his hair.  
He wished he wasn't crying. Although he made not a sound he was aware of hot fat tears running down his cheeks.  
Dripping onto his black jeans.  
He pulled a ream of toilet paper off the roll and scrubbed his face with it.  
He wanted to disappear.  
He couldn't face John.  
Didn't want to know what had been said.  
What had been done.  
He sniffled, and then froze in alarm at how loud the sound was in the silence.  
"Paul are you okay?"  
Fuck! He swallowed once, twice, tried to make his voice sound normal but it came out all scratchy and wobbly. "Yeah, I'm .. I'm fine."  
Steve leaned back against the radiator, folding his arms.  
Who did this lad think he was kidding?  
Steve glanced at his watch. Five minutes so far. How long did it take to have a pee?  
The door to the gents swung open and a uniformed officer entered, blinking in surprise at Steve.  
"Hullo? You alright?"  
Steve indicated the one locked cubicle. "Yeah. Just waiting for someone."  
The guy nodded and crossed to one of the latrines.   
Steve frowned. Why had Paul gone into a cubicle if he only wanted a pee?  
Well ... he coloured slightly. You couldn't exactly knock on the door and ask because, after all, calls of nature could happen at any time.  
He changed his position, shifting around, by now somewhat bored.  
The uniformed officer washed his hands, threw Steve another curious glance, and exited the toilets.  
The sound of more toilet paper being pulled off a roll and another sniffle.  
Steve moved forward and rapped on the cubicle door.  
"Paul? Paul, come on, what are you doing in there?"  
Trying to disappear? Paul wanted to reply. He sniffed again. Jesus at this rate he'd run out of loo roll.  
"Paul, I want you to come out now. I can't help you if you shut yourself in. There's nothing to worry about, you know. Is this the problem? Are you worrying about John? Paul, are you listening to me?"  
Paul perched further back on the toilet seat and drew his legs up, circling them with his arms.  
Had anyone ever drowned themselves in a toilet? Was it even possible?  
There was a rapid tattoo on the door again.  
"If you don't unlock this door I'm going to break it open" Steve threatened.  
Paul's dark eyes fixed on the neat silver bolt. Would it withstand a full blown attack from a grown man?  
Probably not.  
How many bolts would it take to withstand an attack?  
Surveying the door Paul began to work out how many bolts would fit on the door. After all the door was about five feet high. The bolt only took up an inch. So therefore the door should hold sixty bolts. Not counting the one that was already there ...  
"Paul?"  
So he would only need to buy fifty nine bolts to fully secure the door. But then would the hinges hold?  
"Paul?"  
The hinges were really quite flimsy. Two of them. Bigger than the bolts due to the fanned out shape they had ...  
"Paul! Open this door now!"  
... so you wouldn't be able to fit as many. Each hinge took up about three inches, and there was two of them ...  
"Paul?"  
... so that was six inches. Now how many more could you fit in? Six taken away from sixty left fifty four ...  
Paul flinched as the door suddenly fell inwards, almost landing on him.  
Steve pushed it impatiently to one side, and grasped Paul by his wrists.  
Concern filled his eyes. "Paul, what's the matter, eh?"  
"I .. I need fifty nine bolts."  
Steve froze, mystified. "What?"  
Paul's eyes travelled to the broken door.  
"And .. some hinges. I haven't worked out how many yet. There's fifty four inches and each hinge is about three inches, so ..."  
Paul's eyes swivelled round to look at Steve who was still grasping his wrists.  
Paul swallowed.  
"I want to go home" he whispered.


	35. Chapter 35

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again quite a short chapter ... I know the next few days are going to be really busy .. two gigs to rehearse for .. so I'll publish now 'cos I won't get back to it till next Wednesday otherwise. It's all a bit up in the air.

Paul couldn't rationalise his fears.   
They spilled out of him like skeins of wool unravelling, disappearing in multitudinous directions.  
It was too much. Just all too much.  
They were running, pouring, spilling and he couldn't catch them and get them back under control because the walls weren't there to contain them.  
The walls that John had broken down.  
John.  
He wanted John. He wanted him so badly, but would John still want him?  
What had they been telling him?  
Nothing about Paul's past was any good. Nothing. So they could only have been telling John bad things.  
Bad things!  
Paul's stomach heaved at the thought, the taste of bile in his mouth.  
If John didn't want him where could he go?  
Back to George?  
George had opened his arms and his home to him once.  
But that was before.  
Before John.  
And John was his life. His reason for being.  
Without John he didn't want to be.

John had an urgency in his gut to get back to Paul.  
He realised, with a start and not a little smugness, that he'd actually learned to read Paul.  
To know how the lad was going to interpret situations.   
'I don't think Paul is complicated' George had once said to John when John was bewailing his inability to handle Paul's many moods.  
John now realised the surety of those words.  
And knew, without being told, that Paul would be starting to panic.

Steve saw Paul curl up into himself.  
He slipped an arm around the young man's shoulders.  
"Paul, come on, John will be looking for you. He's probably out by now."  
Paul's voice was a whisper. "Why did they want him? It's about me, isn't it?"  
Steve tried to be brisk and upbeat. "It's about you yes but nothing that's your fault. We need John to help us with something."  
He tried to urge Paul towards the exit but Paul's feet refused to budge.  
"Nothing's any good."  
Steve frowned. "What do you mean, nothing's any good?"  
"Me. Nothing's any good about me."  
Steve tapped his fingers impatiently on Paul's shoulder.  
"Don't do yourself down, son. There's plenty that's good about you. Come on, let's get back before they send a search party out."  
"Where will I go?" Paul's eyes were as anxious as the tone of his voice.  
Steve paused in trying to move Paul and surveyed him carefully.  
"What do you mean, where will you go? We're going to run you home, of course."  
Steve knew to be patient but he also knew to be firm.  
"John won't want me." It was quietly but definitely said. Such an air of finality. It startled Steve. Did Paul know something he didn't?  
"I think you'll find John is looking for you. Or if he's not he will be soon."  
Steve had the feeling the statement didn't resonate with Paul. He was on a one-track road.  
"I'm nothing."  
Shit. That phrase again. Steve cursed under his breath.   
"Paul..."  
"I'm not any good."  
"Jesus Christ!"   
Paul wasn't listening to him. He'd lost him.

"Paul!"  
At the sound of John's voice Paul's head shot up, the eyes widening.  
John's eyes took in the sight of the cubicle door hanging off and Steve with his arm around Paul's shoulders, but most of all he took in Paul who looked shattered, his eyes red and bloodshot, tear tracks down his face. In two steps John was in front of him, tugging him from Steve's grasp, pulling him into his arms.  
"Jesus, you had me worried, y' daft bugger. Wondered where you'd ran off too."  
John glanced at Steve, giving a small nod. He knew. He just knew Paul would have a meltdown. Something had told him. He could feel the younger man trembling in his arms.  
"Can we have a lift home now Steve please?" John kept his voice level.  
Steve nodded, relief flooding his features. "Yeah, of course. Come on, I'll take you both. I'll borrow a car, they won't mind."

John held Paul close on the journey home, not for one moment relinquishing his grip. He could feel the weight of Paul's body heavy against him as he leaned on John in the backseat of the car, his head resting on John's shoulder.  
The streetlights threw shadows as they passed, like beams that entered and exited the car at regular intervals, catching the dark strands of Paul's hair, alighting on Steve's serious profile as he quietly drove, picking out the myriad of thoughts in John's amber eyes.  
It would have been lying to say he'd not been shaken by what he'd seen that night.  
It had shaken him to the very core of his being.  
But along with the shock had arisen a determination.  
He couldn't undo what had been done to Paul, but what he could do, and had determined to do, was make sure the rest of Paul's life was a happy one.   
Beginning now.

Ritchie placed a steaming cup of coffee into John's hands and looked worriedly at the man. It was as if John had aged twenty years in one evening.  
"Ta, mate" John took it absent mindedly, his thoughts elsewhere, and blew on it. Ritchie hovered expectantly and John glanced up at him, aware that more was wanted.  
"He's asleep" John offered.  
He didn't really want to say more. Not yet. He needed time to assimilate everything that had happened before he could share.  
Ritchie never took his eyes off John but sat down carefully, perching on the arm of the chair. Looking so homely with his too baggy jumper and oversized slippers that it sent a pang through John. Normality. This was normality. Christ but Paul had led a skewed life. No wonder the poor bugger was fucked up half the time.  
"What happened?"  
John took a sip of the coffee, grateful for the slight burn it gave his tongue. Just to feel. To feel something. To feel some of the pain Paul must have known.  
"Can't talk about it mate. Not yet." John's voice was completely non-committal. Decidedly so. He had to package what he'd seen away first. He gave a little snort. This ... this was what Paul did. Package things away.  
"Is he .. is he okay?"  
John had half carried Paul back into the house. The lad had done his usual trick of closing down, switching off, going to sleep when he couldn't cope, his feet dragging, his body heavy in John's arms. John had simply tucked him in bed. Wait and see what the morning brings. Would Paul have carefully buried everything again?  
"I hope so. Bit of a meltdown there. He's a worrier." John's smile was sad as he glanced at Ritchie. "Don't have to tell you that, do I, though. We both know what he's like."  
Ritchie nodded. It was pretty obvious no other news was forthcoming tonight. But Ritchie had to know ... had to ask ..  
"There's not a .. problem, is there? For you, or Paul? Nothing wrong?"  
The images flashed before John's mind briefly, and he shoved them away.  
"No" he sighed, and suddenly wished he still smoked. "There's nothing .. wrong, as it were. Then again, there's nothing right, either, so to speak."   
John leaned back against the seat. "I'll tell you when I can. Just .. don't wanna talk about it yet, is all."  
Ritchie nodded again. "Okay. But .. you're both okay, yeah?"  
John cranked one eye open and winked at Ritchie. "We will be, yeah."

John perched on the bed next to Paul's sleeping figure, drawing his legs up, resting his chin on his knees. His eyes never left Paul, taking in every minute detail. It would appear the lad was fast asleep, lips slightly parted, the cupid's bow of his upper lip made more obvious by the darker stubble that was appearing. A frown furrowed his brow even in sleep, as if he was debating, still worrying, analysing what had gone on.  
John felt responsible for him. Responsible for his future, his well being.  
Shifting slightly, John pulled his phone from out of his back pocket and flicked it on, searching for George in the contacts. He knew George would still be up. After all, it wasn't yet eleven o' clock, although John felt as if he'd lived a few years in this one evening. Pondering for a moment on what to say, he finally sent a text asking if he could meet up after work the next day. He needed to talk to someone about this. And George was the obvious choice. Wise, all-seeing, all-listening George, who would mull over the situation and come up with an answer. He couldn't tell Ritchie, not yet. It was too personal. And Paul ... what did he tell him? The lad was bound to ask what they'd wanted John for. Unless, of course, he simply 'ignored' the whole thing. But those petit mal moments had become fewer as Paul had grown in confidence, so John wasn't so sure how Paul would be the next day. He heaved a sigh and switched his phone off. Best get to bed really. And sleep, if he could. Paul stirred slightly, shifting his position, the frown on his face only deepening. John reached out and ran a tentative finger along Paul's cheek. No reaction. He was properly asleep then. 

John heard the door to Ritchie's bedroom close. He felt a bit of a bastard not being able to ease Ritchie's curiosity when the poor guy had obviously waited up to see that they were both okay. The house fell quiet, their room warm and dark. He slipped out of his clothes, making a neat pile next to Paul's on the chair.  
'S' funny, he mused to himself, how a day starts out normal, no idea things are going to get upturned, and at the end of it you're a different person. Things have happened. Experiences that shape you, that alter you. He slipped in alongside Paul, and automatically spooned the younger man, drawing the sleeping figure into his arms, breathing in the familiar smell. He felt Paul nestle into his arms without waking.  
Bastards, he thought. I'm gonna fucking help nail them.

He woke to sunshine streaming in through their window and a text back from George.  
It surprised him that he'd slept at all. He thought he'd have dreams ... nightmares even. But no. He woke feeling decidedly refreshed and resolute.   
Paul was still asleep beside him, having rolled over onto his back, arms flung haphazardly out, one hanging off the bedside. The frown, John was relieved to see, had gone.  
He stopped to deliver a chaste kiss onto those tempting lips, and was startled when Paul's eyes opened.  
They surveyed John warily in a loaded silence.  
John swallowed. The lad obviously hadn't forgotten the previous day then.  
John painted a brilliant smile onto his face. "Alright? Sorry, I didn't mean to wake you, princess. Just gonna make us a cup of tea."  
Paul's eyes were burning into him, watching his mouth as he formed the words, reading his expression. Questions. Questions.   
Questions John didn't want to answer.  
He slipped off the bed but Paul's hand grasped his wrist determinedly. John's heart plummeted.  
"John?"  
He held tightly onto his smile. "Yeah? I'm just gonna get us ..."  
Paul cut across him. "Why did they want you last night?"  
John felt his smile must look so fake. Scary, even, as he continued to bare his teeth. His thought processes were whirling at hundreds of miles an hour. What did he say? What the fuck did he tell Paul?  
"Oh, nothing much." He winced even as he said it. Such a lie. To belittle the situation like that.  
Paul didn't believe him anyway. That was obvious.  
The frown was back. "John, please ..."  
John placed his finger on Paul's lips, gently silencing him. "Not now, Paul."  
Paul blinked, unsure. It was bad, wasn't it. It must be. If it was to do with him ...  
John leaned in and pressed another kiss onto those soft lips. "Later."  
Paul watched him as he tied his dressing gown round himself and turned before he left the room.  
"I'm just gonna make us a cuppa, okay? Won't be a sec. It's early yet. You're usually still asleep."  
With a nod and a smile John had gone.

Paul chewed his middle finger unconsciously, his mind roiling with the events of the previous evening. He could remember going to the police station. He could remember waiting for John. He could recall ... his mind flooding with embarrassment ... that he'd had a bit of a 'moment', but .. he didn't remember coming home. No recollection whatsoever. Or of coming to bed, and yet .. he glanced down questioningly at himself, as if to make sure .. he wasn't wearing anything, so??? .... he eased off the pillow slightly, craning his head to look at the chair he usually placed his clothes on when he undressed .. yup, there they were ... a not so neat pile of yesterday's clothes, which meant John must have undressed him and put him to bed. Oh God!! Paul groaned and flopped back onto the pillow. John must think him such a wimp. In fact .. what must John think of him anyway, now that ... now that ... he's been told something?? Something about Paul. He was needed to help, John had said. Or had Steve said that?   
Why had they wanted John? Why??

The bedroom door swung open and John padded in, barefoot, carrying two mugs of tea, his eyes searching for Paul's face, concern in the light brown eyes. His voice, though, was chipper.  
"Here we are an' here we go, two teas ... lovely day. Come on, Paulie, up we get. Our lift will be here soon."  
Lift. It was that word that did it.   
All these last few weeks and Paul had not once wondered why they were being given a lift.  
With a clunk that even John swore he could hear the penny dropped.  
"Why are we being given lifts?"  
Fuck! Fuck, fuck, fuckity fuck, John thought, handing a mug of tea to Paul who took it with outstretched hand, his eyes never leaving John's.  
John stammered, stalled, huffed and hawed. "Well, er, y'know, I reckon .. you, not having been well ..." Paul frowned at this. When had he been ill???? "... and, er, that guy, y'know, an' .. well ... erm ..."   
John faltered, his face crumpling. "Er, I dunno, love" he finished lamely. It was such a blatant lie.  
Paul didn't say anything, just kept looking at John as if expecting more. No more came. He wrapped both hands around the mug, relishing the warmth, the comfort it provided.  
"So ..." his voice was quiet " ... we're being given lifts, and ... and they wanted to talk to you last night, and it was something to do with me ..." John could feel a flush rising from his neck up to his cheeks and suddenly became very interested in the pattern of their duvet ".... and mysteriously the third page of the evening paper went missing the other day ... " Shit! How'd he remembered that? How'd he linked it to????? " ... and you sometimes get phone calls and texts you're not telling me about ..."  
John looked up, bemused "What??" he blurted out.  
As if to reinforce Paul's words John's phone suddenly began ringing. Cursing ... and trying to ignore Paul's sad but triumphant smile ... John irritably answered his phone. It turned out to be Sean from the night before ringing to see if they were both okay. John tried edging towards the door, then realised it only made him look more suspicious, so returned to the centre of the floor but with his back turned to Paul ... who still had his eyes on him. Those bloody eyes.  
"... was just checking, y'know. A bit traumatic for both of ye ... Steve said Paul was right cut up .."  
"Er, yeah, no, we're fine, we're okay. A good night's sleep an' all that ..." Jesus, just get off the phone. He was aware of Paul slipping out of bed, padding quietly to his side ... bloody distractingly nakedly beautiful and .. oh fuck ...  
"..that Paul is alright with all this, y'know?"  
He'd circled round to face John and catching his name mentioned raised one eyebrow in a query.  
"Er, not said, yet .. erm, choosing me time, y'know .."  
".. ah, right, so .."  
".. yeah .. erm .. just getting ready for work, so .."  
"No problem, no problem. Ring me later, let me know how you are. If you wanna talk, or anything, okay? Keep this mobile number, yeah?"  
John edged round, Paul shuffling after him. John hunched his shoulder. "Er, yeah, will do. Bye."  
John slid his phone into his pocket.  
Paul just watched him, a tiny muscle at the side of his cheek twitching.  
"I .. I, er ... I .. " John flailed around for words, then gave up. He shrugged. "We'd best get ready for work" he suggested.  
After looking at him intently for another moment, Paul turned and quietly gathered his things to head to the bathroom.

Of everyone it ended up being Jacob that John spoke to.  
The images of the night before kept haunting him, and the idea of testifying in court was overwhelming.  
Paul had been quiet on the journey in too and that worried John. He'd set a distance between them on the backseat of the car that was mental as well as physical.  
John could see him re-constructing barriers in his mind, his face implacable.  
Rob had picked up straight away that something was wrong as his two employees carried out their work in an uncommunicative silence. He'd got short shrift when he tried to start a conversation with either of them. 'Lover's tiff' he consoled himself with the thought, although somehow it didn't ring true.   
"John, can I catch a word about the stock taking in the books please?" Jacob asked, having been tipped off by Rob that something was very wrong.  
Paul had glanced over with disinterested eyes before turning back to the job he was doing.

Upstairs in the flat Jacob had pushed a mug of coffee in John's direction and said "Talk."  
Bewildered, John frowned. "Pardon?"  
Jacob perched opposite him at the table on which the stock taking book was spread and said "What's wrong, John? What's the matter?"  
A lawyer. Jacob was a lawyer. He'd understand.  
Hesitantly John started, then, like a dam releasing, it all spilled out.  
Jacob hid his shock at John's description of the photos, and murmured encouraging noises in support of John taking an active part in the court proceedings.  
"I've not told Paul" John explained " He thinks something's wrong. Well, it is, but .. not .. I don't know how to tell him. I don't know if I should tell him. An' now he's suspicious an' thinks I'm hiding things from him, which I am, but .. he'll misinterpret it, y'know? But I don't know if I ought to tell him .. an' he'll know summat's up when I have to go and be a witness an' I'm missing from work, an' .. oh Christ, Jacob, I don't know what to do for the best, I really don't."  
Jacob drew a deep breath. Yes, he could see the problem.  
"It's probably best you tell Paul" he stated after a moment's thought.  
John raked his fingers through his hair. "What? Everything? I mean .. photos an' all?"  
Jacob nodded. "Is he aware any were taken at all? Has he ever mentioned? ... no, of course he hasn't" Jacob trailed off. "Too big an issue, isn't it. He may not be aware any exist of him in such a way. If so it'll be quite a shock, and an embarrassment. Do you think he may have an idea? Just wondering, that's all."  
"I dunno. I was going to go and talk to George tonight after work. He might know, an' if he doesn't he always seems to know what to do."  
Jacob nodded. "Good idea. But I would still tell Paul. He has the right to know what's going on. If you don't tell him he'll assume you're keeping things from him and probably jump to wrong conclusions. Is he being kept out of the court case?"  
John twiddled with his mug, turning it round and round. "Yeah. It's not, in any case, about him .. he's additional fuel to the fire, as it were, and his name will be kept out of it. They felt he'd been through enough and it won't be of any benefit to drag him through the muck again."  
"Good. That's good. Okay .. let me give you some tips for when you're in the witness box, then. So ..."  
John listened with half an ear.  
Tell Paul? God, how was he gonna do that? The poor kid would be so embarrassed. Unless, of course, he knew. Did he know? Was he aware that these photos had been taken?

"I'm just going over to George's for a bit, love, I won't be long."  
John had seen Paul into the house, ensured Ritchie was there so the lad wasn't on his own, and then delivered the unexpected news.  
It just added to Paul's suspicions that something wasn't right. In fact that something was very very wrong.  
Before he could query, John had gone.  
Paul made his way up to their room and flopped despondently onto their bed. He was so confused. And worried. John wasn't talking to him ... at least, not properly talking. He was hiding something, Paul knew he was.  
It must be his fault.  
It was always his fault.  
Bad things.  
"Paul?" It was a tentative knock at the door and Ritchie popped his head in, surveying the young man anxiously but at the same time trying hard to look normal when he had no idea either what the fuck was going on. 'Look after him' John had said then run off. "Do you want a cup of tea?"  
The ludicrousness of the question suddenly hit Ritchie. How British was it in time of stress or trouble to offer a cup of tea? If Germany had wanted to win the war all they needed to do was bomb the P.G. Tips factory. Legs been cut off? Oh have a cup of tea. Roofs fallen in? Have a cup of tea. Ritchie could feel Paul's dark eyes surveying him, wondering, debating.  
"Ritchie, why's John gone to George's?" It was so plaintively asked.  
Ritchie gave himself a shake, mentally and physically. "I've no idea, Paul. Do you want to come down for a cup of tea? I thought you might like to help me make a meal. What d'you fancy tonight, eh? Your favourite?"  
He saw Paul struggle to bring a smile to his face. The poor bugger was worrying. Why didn't John tell them what the fuck he was up to?


	36. Chapter 36

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So ... next chapter ... still short but I'm trying to move on with this. Hope you enjoy.

"You must tell him."  
They weren't the words John wanted to hear from George but, oddly enough, they were the ones he'd steeled himself to hear.  
He looked at George and saw sympathy and empathy at one within those warm brown eyes.  
George smiled and repeated the words.  
"For you both to have a full life together " he continued " there needs to be no dark secrets between you. If you don't tell Paul you will forever have this knowledge burning away, eating at your insides. It will spoil your future together."   
John shifted his position on the brightly covered sofa with it's many cushions and throws, aware of the warmth of the cat nestled on his lap.  
"I don't know how to tell him. I don't know how to break the news. More than that ... " John paused and scratched the side of his nose thoughtfully " ... I don't know if Paul is aware of the fact any photos were taken. He was obviously drugged .." his voice caught on the word, and he pushed the grief he felt back down. Now was not the time to grieve. Now was the time for action. He gave himself a mental shake. " ... drugged, and he may not have been conscious of what was going on." A part of John hoped to God Paul hadn't been.  
George inspected his long fingers that he had clasped between his knees, the tips of them a mix of orange and red colours from various spices and flavourings.  
Paul had never mentioned this to him. It was possible the young man didn't know. Then again, Paul had only ever told him a fraction of what had gone on. George vaguely wondered how much John actually knew. Probably more than he, George, did .. but still only a fraction. Oh to God that Paul had never fallen under the clutches of Luke Stanton. Louise Harrison had more or less offered Paul a home once she'd realised things were going to shit at the McCartney household, but Paul and his fucking pride ...  
John was watching him questioningly.  
"You still need to tell him. It's his life, and you can't hold something like that over him. I know ... " George waved his hand as he sensed a disagreement coming up "...I know you won't use it over Paul, but someone might, and .. well, he deserves the right to know. You have to respect that fact, John."  
John heaved an enormous sigh, and raked his fingers through his hair.  
"Yeah. Yeah, you're right. I knew you'd say that, but I had to hear it from your own lips, so to speak."  
"When's the court case?"  
"Next week. Next Thursday. Paul'll be at the care home so he'll be well out of the way and otherwise occupied."  
"They're definitely not going to involve him then?"  
John shook his head. "No plans to, no. I spoke to Sean tonight and he reckons it'll be a quick case. There's a lot of reporters sniffing around but quite a lot is gonna be kept under wraps."  
"And you're going to tell Paul you're doing this as well?"  
It came out more as a statement than a question.  
John nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, I am. I want to see the bastards nailed that did this to him."  
"And are they sure they've got them all?"  
Well ... that was the crux, wasn't it?  
John hoped to God they had.  
"They're fairly confident, yeah. A bit like toppling a pile of dominoes ... once they got one the others fell too. Well, thanks, George, I'd better get back. Paul'll be wondering why I fled like that."  
"Is Ritchie with him?"  
"Oh God, yeah. I long ago learned never leave Paul on his own. Too many demons follow him."  
George frowned then blinked the comment away.  
"So ... all good for in another three weeks then?"  
It took John a moment to grasp what George was referring to. The wedding. Of course, the wedding.  
"Yeah, all good. An' all this will be over." He added 'I hope' as an afterthought in his mind.

He unlocked the green painted front door and the smell of cooking met him.  
"I'm home" he called, peeling off his denim jacket and heading towards the living room, slightly surprised but not undaunted that Paul hadn't hurtled to greet him as he usually did.  
"Hi John" a voice called. Ritchie.  
Where was Paul?  
He pushed open the door into the living room and through the open kitchen door, from where those wonderful smells emanated, he could see Ritchie and Paul.  
Making his way over he threw a smile at Ritchie but only had eyes for Paul who was observing him warily, as if he was a dog who might bite.   
The kitchen was tiny and there wasn't room for him to get past Ritchie, busy at the cooker, to reach Paul, who was the other side.  
So they looked at each other.  
Paul was serious, not a smile upon that face.  
John's heart sank.  
If Paul was in a mood how was he gonna even begin to talk to him?  
Either sensing or being totally unaware of the situation, Ritchie, after checking the sausages, beamed brightly at John and asked "So, how's George?"   
John's eyes flicked politely over to Ritchie. "Oh, he's good, yeah. Looking forward to the wedding."  
Ritchie beamed, happiness exuding from every pore.  
"Not long now."  
Still Paul hadn't spoken, but John could feel his eyes burning into him.  
Ritchie was busy chattering away as he put the sausages back in the oven, a blast of hot air filling the confined space "..... long range forecast, but you can't trust 'em, can y'?" he was saying.  
John so wanted to take Paul in his arms. Wipe away that anxiety.  
"...could y'? Only be a sec."  
John reckoned he'd been asked to get the trays out. He started. "Sure thing, yeah."  
He threw a wink at Paul but the lad's face remained blank.  
"... and the plates, Paul?"  
Paul blinked. Had he been asked something? He'd been trying to read John. What was going on? What the fuck was going on?  
"Paul?"  
He drew a breath and looked at Ritchie, who was eyeing him in concern. "Plates, love?"  
"Oh! Oh, yeah. Right." Paul delved into the cupboard in search of plates.  
He felt jittery inside.  
As if a few hundred butterflies were preparing to take flight.  
Unsettled. Unsure. A slight trembling in his body.  
One of the plates accidentally slipped from his fingers which had suddenly become clumsy. It shattered on the old red tiles with a noise that seared Paul's head. He winced, bracing himself for a blow or a scolding, his mind slipping back in time ....  
"Whoops-a-daisy, butter fingers ... you okay? Not hurt yourself?"  
Ritchie saw Paul slide from unconscious back to conscious in a matter of a second, his eyes suddenly focusing worriedly on Ritchie.  
"I'm sorry .. I'm so sorry ..."   
Ritchie started in concern. The lad looked as if he would burst into tears.  
"It's okay" he hastened to reassure him " it's only a plate. We've got loads."  
Paul was staring at Ritchie as if he had just committed the biggest crime ever and was expecting punishment, his fingers still trembling.   
Ritchie's smile slipped into a frown. "It's okay" he said again, touching Paul's arm, trying to reassure him.  
He was a nuisance.  
A liability.  
Just in everyone's way.  
It would be better if he ....  
"Ey, come on" Strong hands gripped him, digging forcefully into his biceps and he felt himself crushed against someone's chest ... John's chest ... he'd know his smell any where ..... he sniffled, feeling suddenly overly emotional but desperately trying to bottle it up. A hand released one of his arms and came up behind his head, holding him still against that chest ... John's chest ... he never wanted to be anywhere else ... ever ... not ever ....  
".... better just keep it warm for him ..."  
.... the last words he heard.

He was comfortable, nestling among cushions and throws. He could hear the sound of a television droning in the background and the murmur of a conversation. A tantalising smell was in the air, and he tried to trace it. It reminded him of .. of ... potatoes. Yes, definitely potatoes .. and .. sausage .. and .. something .. something else ... brown sauce, that was it ... a slightly spicy smell ... and he became aware of the fact he was hungry. Where was he? He slightly opened his eyes, peering through the lashes that hid the fact from observers that he was awake. He was in line to see the television up the corner and the news was on so it must be about nine o' clock, and if he turned his head slightly, so slightly no one would see, he could just about spy Ritchie's oversized hairy slippers which meant Ritchie would be sitting in the armchair and behind him .. yes, definitely behind him, probably perched on the arm of the settee, he could sense John, and it must have been John's plate that the tantalising smell emanated from. So .. what had happened? He'd not eaten .. no, definitely not, because he was hungry. He could feel the emptiness in his stomach. So .. so ... he screwed his eyes shut again, trying to think. To recall. Start slowly ... day. What day was it? Don't panic ... take your time, he warned himself, just .. think. What's the last thing you can remember doing? Work backwards. Slowly. Sausages ... would that be a clue? Ritchie cooking .. a plate. Something to do with a plate. And ... John. John had gone out. Without him. He screwed his eyes more tightly shut. He was being watched. He knew he was. He could sense it. And he wasn't sure what had gone on.  
He jumped when a hand suddenly pushed the hair out of his eyes but he stubbornly kept them closed.  
"Paul? You awake?" It was John's voice.  
Yes, he was, but he wasn't admitting to it because he was confused.  
And he didn't like being confused.  
It made him feel vulnerable.  
But far, far worse than that it made him feel incompetent.  
An idiot.  
The hand that had moved the hair trailed down his face and gently rubbed his chin.  
"He's still asleep, isn't he?" That was Ritchie's voice.  
The finger rubbing his chin traced it's way back up, brushing across his cheek.   
"Nah" there was a hint of a smile in John's voice. "He's definitely awake. Just not admitting it, are y', Paulie?"  
Fuck! Now this was downright embarrassing.  
Did he admit to being awake or not?  
If he didn't then his stomach was going to start rumbling soon.  
And he was hungry.  
But he was also afraid.  
There were big holes in today that he couldn't fill in.  
He had no idea what had gone on.  
He let out a sigh and opened his eyes.  
"Told you!" he heard John triumphantly exclaim.  
A pair of strong arms yanked him up to a sitting position and the cushions and throws surrounding him rolled onto the floor. The room spun around him briefly, settling to it's usual position, and then there was John, squatting in front of him, an amused smile on his face but concern in his eyes that were fixed on Paul. Paul tried to ignore the concern, unsure as to what had happened, had he fucked up again?, and focused on the smile instead. John didn't look annoyed at him, so ... maybe ...?  
"You okay?" The question was quietly asked. Paul chewed his lip and nodded his head.   
John's hand landed on the top of his thigh and gave a squeeze that made Paul jump. "Sure?"  
Sure? Paul wasn't sure about anything. The day. The time. What had occurred.  
The only thing he was sure of was that he was hungry.  
And that lingering smell in the air of sausage and mash and brown sauce really made his stomach ....  
"You must be hungry, 'ere y' go, we kept it warm" and Ritchie was standing there, tray in hand, apron tied around his waist.  
....rumble. Really loud.  
John and Ritchie burst out laughing and it made Paul chuckle too, and removed the need for further conversation as he dived in to the meal enthusiastically.

As if by prior agreement, John and Ritchie resumed their conversation as though nothing had happened, giving Paul space and time to eat a meal and come round. For a moment nothing existed for Paul except the food he'd been presented with, he was so hungry. Also ... it gave him something to do. Stopped him from thinking. Or .. not ... as the case may be. If asked he would have had no idea of the day. While that bothered him slightly nonetheless he put all his attention into eating, aware of John sitting next to him, warm and solid, and Ritchie slouched in the armchair, their conversation droning over his head. Clearing the last remnants off his plate he finished the glass of water and with a satisfied sigh wiped his mouth with the back of his his hand.  
John politely handed him a tissue. "Oy, mucky pup. Manners."  
Paul took the tissue and scrubbed his face with it, cleaning remnants of brown sauce from round his mouth. Ritchie gave him a warm smile.  
"Better?" he asked as he stood up and took the tray from Paul.  
Paul nodded. "Ta. I was starving."  
"Well, if you will choose mealtimes to go to sleep ..." John trailed off jokingly.  
Paul looked at him and was rather alarmed to see there was a lot of emotion swirling round in those amber eyes.   
What was going on?  
Was something wrong?  
Had HE done something wrong?  
He reached out a tentative finger and touched John's chin.  
"John?"  
A spasm of grief crossed John's face, swiftly hidden as he caught hold of Paul's finger, pretending to bite it.  
Paul pulled the digit back quickly, chuckling, squirming out of the way as John went for his ribs.  
"John ... don't ... stop it ..." he whined as he tried to escape John's clutches. In a tangle of limbs they slid off the settee onto the floor, John's arms swiftly circling Paul, holding him still.  
"Stop kicking, you little eel."  
"Stop tickling me then!"  
"Okay. I'll stop. Truce?"  
Paul emerged from under John's arms, tousled and beaming. "Truce."  
John dutifully put his arms in the air, and Paul crawled across the floor to nestle beside him, leaning back against the settee. He let out another satisfied sigh that had John smiling.  
"Y'okay?"  
Paul glanced curiously at him. It seemed there were a lot of questions in that question. As if John meant more than was he okay. There was something about John's demeanour, as if he was being forcibly jovial. Paul scrutinised him carefully before replying.  
And John could sense it.  
As if he was being stripped bare.  
His mind turned inside out for observation.  
Fuck but sometimes this kid was very astute.  
"John?"  
John dropped the eye contact and became very interested in the toe of one of his socks that had a hole appearing. He could sense Paul was still watching him intently.  
He prodded a finger through the hole, wiggling it, making it bigger.  
"Hmmm?"  
Paul's question was hesitant, and, out of necessity, ambiguous because he hadn't the least idea what had been going on or what day it was, only that something felt off.  
"What's .. what's the matter?"  
John glanced up, masking his feelings, acting surprised. "Matter? Nothing's the matter." He made his voice sound definite.  
It washed over Paul.  
"You look ..." Paul considered, choosing carefully the word he wanted " ... sad."  
John absorbed Paul's words, the young man so close to him he could feel his warmth, smell his scent. His eyes scanned the oh so familiar face, the wide, curious eyes, the delicate features, and like a bolt from the blue those pictures were in front of him again. Tears sprang to John's eyes and he couldn't hold them back. He swallowed, gasped, tried to contain them, but next moment they were pouring down his face. He felt Paul's arms go round him. Strong and secure. No, no, no his brain cried, this was the wrong way round. HE should be comforting PAUL. Not like this. Not .. this.  
"John? Johnny?" Paul's voice was a whisper, a murmur in his ears.  
It was no good. It was like a dam releasing.  
From their position on the floor Paul looked up, bewildered, to Ritchie who had entered from the kitchen. Wiping his hands on his apron. Puzzled as to what had gone on.  
Paul looked for help, a silent beseeching, but Ritchie had no idea. None at all.   
Paul tightened his arms around the sobbing figure.  
"Have .. have I done something wrong?" he asked Ritchie tentatively, worried that he could recall nothing of the day he had just, apparently, lived through.   
After all, it must be his fault. It was always his fault.  
Ritchie perched on the arm of the settee absolutely at a loss. John just ... didn't do this.  
He automatically shook his head. "No. No, 'course you haven't, y' daft lad."  
Paul turned his attention back to John, murmuring soothing words that, if only he'd known it, just succeeded in adding fuel to the fire. John swallowed his sobs, struggling to control his emotions, dragging them, one by one, under his domination again. Finally he emerged from the circle of Paul's arms and slid his hands up to cradle Paul's face.  
His fingers were strong, stroking Paul's cheeks, sending rippling waves of pleasure through the younger man's body even though he still nervously held on to John, worried that this was his fault. His fault.  
"Nothing you've done" John murmured, continuing to stroke Paul's cheeks as if to reassure himself that the young man was really there, not just some vision on a badly printed image.  
"But ... but .."  
"No but's" John tightened his lips, resolve spreading through him, gathering pace, like wildfire. His hands slid from Paul's face, down his arms, and grasped the slender wrists tightly. In one fluid movement John stood up, pulling Paul up with him. He gave the younger man a brief but crushing hug before releasing him, yet maintaining a firm grip on one of Paul's wrists. "Come on, love, I need to talk to you. And if I don't do it now I'll lose my nerve."  
Towing Paul in the direction of the doorway, the lad threw a bewildered glance back at a bemused Ritchie.  
What was wrong?  
What had gone on?  
Talk to him?  
What about?  
Oh fuck ... what about?

Shock and horror coursed through Paul's veins as he looked speechlessly at John, his eyes huge and dark in a face suddenly devoid of colour.   
For one awful moment John thought Paul had gone into a catotonic state. It was obvious, from the younger man's reaction, that he had no idea about the photos. Or if he had he'd conveniently 'forgotten' them. John reached a tentative hand out.  
"Paul?" he breathed, hardly daring to say anything else. Oh God, maybe he shouldn't have told him. Maybe he shouldn't have said anything. Was Paul even breathing? His eyes had gone unfocused, reminding John strikingly of one of the photos. Those fucking photos. 

It was the last wall to fall. Solidly built and tightly stashed away in such a dark corner of Paul's mind he'd almost forgotten it existed. Now it was crashing down, each brick a terrifying memory in an endless nightmare that held no beginning or end. A seamlessly woven period of time that could have lasted weeks or months, Paul had no idea. Only that he'd wanted to escape from it all and couldn't. The memories came like a rushing torrent, brief but forceful, each one knocking him off his feet. Some were clear, like a polaroid flash catching one particular intense moment, others were sensations ... feelings ... re-lived through a blur. He could recall curling up on the floor of a shower while hot ... really hot ... water cascaded down on him. He'd wanted to wash away the things that had happened. He remembered being given something to drink and he'd fought against it, liquid dribbling down his chin as he'd clamped his jaws tightly shut, but he'd been hit, again and again, until finally he'd given in, and the lethal substance had been poured between unwilling lips, leaving him feeling hazy, out of it, aware of things happening but unable to prevent anything, his limbs uncoordinated, heavy, and if he recalled anything at all from this period it was this particular feeling ... of helplessness, of being in a drugged state the majority of the time ... and of voices, names being mentioned ... names that he'd clung onto and later, if able to function normally even for a few minutes, written down in his notebook. Sounds, feelings, weird, distorted, swirled around him, as if he'd slipped into a nightmare that didn't have an end. He only knew he'd wanted out ... to just not be any more ... to never feel ... never experience again ... just ... stop being ...

He'd forgotten where he was, who he was, as the overwhelming barrage of memories collapsed on him like a ton of bricks. He sank his head into his hands. No more. He couldn't cope with any more.

It was with relief that John saw him move to cradle his head. He'd seriously, for one heart stopping moment, thought Paul had totally flipped. He edged closer to him, warily, not wanting to startle the younger man, stretching out a hand to touch the bent head.

"Paul?"  
Paul's head shot up, his eyes bright. It took a moment for everything to stop swirling round him, to find it's base and settle, like dust or snow falling.  
John scanned Paul's face. The lad still looked stunned, but he was definitely with it. Or at least John thought so.  
"Are you okay?" Even as John posed the question he cringed. How could Paul be okay after what he'd just fucking told him?   
"Love .. it ... I had to tell you. I couldn't keep it to myself. It's not .. I mean .. if we ..no, when we .." Shit! John couldn't get his words out. Couldn't form a cohesive sentence. He fumbled and stumbled, aware of Paul's eyes continually on him, scrutinising. Even as John struggled to find the words he wanted to say, Paul rose to his feet. A calm composure that was unreal given the situation they were in crossed Paul's face, and, even more scarily to John, a diminishing, as if Paul was withdrawing himself. A step back. A step further. The young man was moving backwards, like a vision that was fading ethereally into the darkness of their room. One more step and he'd be ...  
"Paul?"  
.... gone. Forever.


	37. Chapter 37

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So .. this is the bit you've all been waiting for ... except you didn't know you were waiting for it.  
> Enjoy!!

For one heart-stopping moment John thought Paul was going to vanish in front of his very eyes.  
He willed his numb legs to rise from the bed they'd been sitting on and chase the evaporating figure into the gloom of the corner of their room. Tripping over Paul's ... or was it his own? ... discarded shoes on the way John cursed that he'd not put the light on, hoping to spare Paul some embarrassment by imparting his news in a darkened room. Fat lot of good that had done. Add that to the fact he'd taken off his glasses and now couldn't see a fucking thing.

He felt Paul before he saw him, colliding into the warm body in the furthest, gloomiest, darkest recess of the room Paul had been able to find. John went by feel, grabbing hold of Paul's arm? .. hand? .. wrist? ... whatever it was, his mind deciphering quickly, until he located Paul's biceps.  
"Paul .. love .." he murmured. He didn't know what to say. And he couldn't see the younger man's fucking face either.   
He tried to pull the resisting figure towards him. Why the fuck didn't they have a table lamp in this room? Oh, wait, there was. By the bed. But they weren't by the bed. They were ......  
"Fuck!" John swore as his knee collided with the edge of the dresser.  
He felt the figure he'd got a tight hold of recoil at his exclamation.  
"Not you ... I'm not mad at you. Banged me fucking knee" John explained breathily, anxiously, desperately trying to peer into the gloom to catch a glimpse of Paul's face.  
He could hear Paul's breaths though, swiftly drawn, and imagine the beating heart.  
"Look, Paul .." oh how he hated talking to someone he couldn't see. But he didn't dare let go of Paul because ... well, because he might just disappear. Vanish. Forever. John tried again ... " Paul .. it ...I wanted to say ..."  
"I'm sorry."  
John halted, surprised. Astonished to hear a voice in the gloom that wasn't his.  
He picked up quickly. "Sorry? What for? Not your ..."  
Paul was squirming in his grasp, wriggling to extricate himself. The movement was sudden, and John instinctively tightened his hold.  
"Let me go" Paul's voice was quiet .. strangled, almost, as if he was struggling ... "I'll go ... it's okay, I'll go .. just let me go."  
A frown crossed John's face. Total bewilderment. "Let you go? Let you go where?"  
He was genuinely confused.  
For a moment the figure within his arms stilled. He heard Paul swallow, a little gulp, a drawn breath, then ...  
"You don't have to say anything, Johnny .. I understand."  
"Understand what? What you on about?"  
It was as if Paul steeled himself, and it came out in a barrage of words.  
"You won't want me now, it's okay, I get it ... I wouldn't either .. I understand ..." he heard a choked back sob, but the words carried on defiantly .. " I'll just go .. it's okay ... honest ... I'm sorry .. sorry that you got mixed up in all this. So sorry ... " Paul's words finished in a whisper.  
The truth suddenly hit home with John. So Paul thought he wouldn't want him anymore? That that was it? Goodbye?   
He drew the younger man into the circle of his arms, seeking out his face, his hair, by smell, by feel.  
"You daft, daft bugger" he murmured into what he was fairly sure was Paul's ear. "What d'you mean, go? You're not going anywhere. Unless it's with me by your side. For Chrissake, Paul, I intend to spend the rest of me life with you. I want to marry you."  
Even as he said it, unaware of where those words had sprung from, he realised that, nonetheless, it was the truth. As if it had been fermenting all this time in his brain and had chosen this moment ... this damned, unfortunate, emotionally charged moment ... to erupt.  
He felt Paul freeze within his arms.  
John took a deep breath.  
Strongly aware that ...  
He'd meant it.  
He'd fucking meant it.  
And now he'd said it, he was going to say it again.  
He traced his hands up, up Paul's shoulders, into the soft hair, feeling his way in the darkness, smoothing his thumbs down over cheekbones.  
He whispered the words, gently, trying them out for size on his tongue.  
After all, he'd probably never say them again.  
God willing, never have to.  
"I want to marry you."  
He leaned his forehead against Paul's, feeling the younger man's breath gusting across his face.  
You could have heard a pin drop.  
"Will you?" John asked, his words a murmur. "Will you marry me?"  
Paul's arms slipped around the back of John's neck. He could feel the lad's fingers twiddling in the stray bits of hair in the way he tended to do. Almost feel the cogs turning in Paul's brain. Wondering. Debating. Probably, John thought, over-thinking and getting it wrong. Then John realised he was nervous, awaiting Paul's reply. And that he'd assumed, rightly or wrongly, over their now quite long relationship, that this was how it was going to be. And why had it taken him, John, so long to get round to asking Paul? After all, he couldn't imagine spending the rest of his life with anyone else. Ever.  
"You'd want me?" Paul's reply was quiet. Tentative, almost. As if he couldn't quite believe what he'd just been asked. "After ... after everything? All that's gone on?"  
"Certainly do" John attempted to lighten the mood slightly, a jocular tone to his voice.  
He felt Paul shift within his arms .. a little jiggle of movement .. his body warm and lithe in John's grasp.   
The words were murmured against his neck. "I'm not much good, y'know. Luke told me I was nothing. Not worth anything."  
John tightened his arms around the slim figure. "Well I'm not fucking Luke."  
He was sure he could feel Paul smile against his neck.  
"Well, in that case, yes."  
John froze. Did he mean? was he? did he?  
He held Paul at a distance, his eyes adjusting to the darkness. He could just see the glimmer of the whites of Paul's eyes. He fixed on them anxiously. He had to be sure.  
Suddenly, nothing mattered in the world for John except this moment.  
"Yes?"  
He saw a flash of white teeth in a smile. "Yes."  
John tugged Paul into his arms and smothered him with tiny kisses until the lad squirmed.  
"For better, for worse, eh? Not forgetting the happy ever after."  
He felt Paul's fingers thread through his in a silent entwining and thought his heart would burst.  
He was so happy.

Despite all the things that had gone on and the court case opening on Thursday, when John woke in the morning and watched Paul sleeping it was with a quiet satisfaction and a contentment that he'd not known he could ever possess. This gorgeous boy with the messy dark locks tucked into his side was going to be his. His as in officially. Permanently. Forever.

John wanted to shout out his news to the whole world.  
Paul wanted to hold it close to his chest and savour the moment.  
"At least tell our closest friends" John had urged.  
He got his way.

Last night they'd celebrated their 'engagement' with a bottle of beer each and a rousing congratulations from Ritchie, who'd jokingly???? suggested it could always be a double wedding in three weeks time.  
John had seen Paul's eyes widen in panic.  
He'd quickly squeezed the hand he was holding in reassurance.  
He knew Paul well enough by now to know that if something like this was going to happen it would be properly done and properly planned down to the nth degree.  
Paul, on his part, couldn't believe it.  
The news about the photos had been shoved to the back of his mind.  
In fact .. he hardly thought about them or the implications.  
All that mattered was that John had asked him to get married.  
Him. Paul. Who was nothing.  
He was going to be somebody.  
"Names? What are you doing over your names?"   
That was Ritchie asking.  
Paul could feel John's eyes on him.  
He was so excited he didn't care what they did with their names.  
His heart gave a little jump for joy and he was sure it registered in his body too because he felt John smile.  
Paul kept his eyes solidly fixed on the rug. Or the settee. Or his feet.  
Anywhere but Ritchie and John's faces.  
He was so happy he couldn't contain it and was bound to embarrass himself in a moment.  
Finally ... and to spare Paul any further emotional upheaval .. Ritchie had done a pretend yawn and suggested bedtime.  
John had hauled Paul up from off the settee and steered him in the direction of their bedroom.  
The room that had hours before been the scene of such turmoil and then such joy.  
Basking now in a warm glow from the table lamp.  
John had taken Paul into his arms and gently kissed him.  
"What do you want to do over names, love?" he'd enquired anxiously. "I don't mind .. have a think."   
Paul leaned into him, resting his head on John's shoulder, breathing in the familiar scent.  
He'd tightened his arms around the solid figure, drawing reassurance from the strength he felt there.  
"I want to take yours" Paul murmured.  
John stilled. Overcome. "Are you sure? You don't have to decide yet. We've got ages. Have a think. You might change your mind."  
Even as John spoke Paul was lazily shaking his head.  
He was tired.  
It had been a most emotional evening.  
But he was happy.  
And now he wanted to sleep so he could process it all.  
John felt Paul grow heavier against him and gave a wry smile.  
This was an aspect of their marriage he figured he'd better get used to pretty quickly.

And now, in the clear early light of a May morning, he was watching Paul sleep.  
Christ but things could have gone so wrong last night.  
Who would have thought the circle would have turned so fully.  
As if fate herself had decided to take a hand.  
Throw them a good luck card.  
There's still the trial to get through, one nasty, overbearing, fun-hating part of John's mind reminded him.  
Fuck off, he told it gleefully.  
He felt even more empowered this morning than he had yesterday.  
Even more reason to nail the bastards.  
This was his other half they'd done it to.  
His ... he tried the word out on his tongue cautiously, curiously, for the first time ... husband.  
His husband.

They'd broken the news to Jacob and Rob the next morning at work.  
John seriously felt like a love-struck teenager going pink as he relayed the news of their engagement, and this time it was Paul standing upright and solid next to him who answered all questions with just enough shyness to make the whole conversation endearing. Rob and Jacob were asking all the kinds of questions they couldn't yet answer ... namely where and when and how and who ... but John figured that would eventually be sorted by his ultra-efficient boyfriend .. wait ... fiance.  
Fiance.  
Wow .. now there was another word.  
Rings!!!  
It suddenly struck John they'd need rings.  
He blurted it out as if it was the utmost importance and Paul looked at him in surprise, Jacob and Rob in amusement.  
"Unless you're getting married tomorrow you have plenty of time for that, John" said Rob comfortingly, glancing with a sideways look at his own embellished broad gold band. Rob still remembered the excitement with which they'd purchased their own rings ... to the dismay of Jacob's parents who were worried that their precious only son destined to be a successful lawyer was about to be led astray by some wannabe cowboy with long hair. Fortunately Jacob's parents had come round and now, begrudgingly, had to admit that their son was happy. It reminded Rob of John's commitments.  
"So ... will you be breaking the exciting news to your aunt soon then?"  
A slight tremor of trepidation ran through John.  
How on earth would Mimi react?  
He could feel Paul's eyes on him.  
"Er, yeah. Soon as we've had time to get used to the idea ourselves" he hedged.  
He felt Paul squeeze his hand, and he gave a gentle squeeze back.

George's hug enveloped both of them, his smile wide.  
"I knew you would. Congratulations. Both of you."  
He was happy for them. Also content. It was just what Paul needed.  
And he had a feeling that, despite the tough exterior, it was just what John needed too.  
"Any idea when?" The next obvious question.  
He saw Paul glance shyly at John, as if he was just checking ... as if he couldn't believe this had happened to him.  
"No date yet, but we aren't gonna hang around over it. No need to, is there, love?" John glanced at Paul at his side and his heart was so full it almost burst.  
"We'll probably wait till Paul's sentence is completed ... " Paul came to with a start. He'd been living in a wonderland the last few days, kept having to pinch himself to make sure he wasn't dreaming, and had temporarily forgotten he was even serving a sentence " ... and that'll be in the summer. A nice time for a wedding, I reckon, don't you?" John looked at Paul again for confirmation but the overcome young man could only nod.  
John hoped that they both managed to get their act together before said ceremony because at the moment either one or the other of them was continually in a daydream.  
George's smile grew bigger.  
"It'll be amazing. Just wonderful, whenever it is."

John couldn't think why he'd not asked Paul before.  
I mean .. it was so obvious.  
Every day he questioned his sanity on why he'd taken so long to get round to it.  
What had finally pushed him.  
Well ... it had been those photos, hadn't it.   
And Paul's reaction.  
Somehow that moment was tied up in the decision that seemed to have been taken out of John's hands, springing instead directly from his heart.  
Now, each day, he surveyed Paul in a different light.  
Trying out the words on his lips, on his tongue.  
Fiance. Husband.

And Paul's eyes on him.  
He could swear the lad had stars sparkling inside them.  
And the trust that Paul had put into his hands.  
He'd handed John his life.  
For better, for worse.  
Well, he, John, had made his mind up.  
It was going to be for bloody better and let any one dare stand in his way.

It seemed no time at all before it was Wednesday and the trial began the next day.  
Just thinking about it gave John hot and cold shivers.  
He was so nervous. Hadn't reckoned on that.  
All day at work he could sense Paul surreptitiously watching him when he thought John was otherwise occupied. Finally, Paul disappeared without a word up the stairs to the flat. If John thought about it at all, which he didn't, not really ... it was just to assume Paul had gone to check something out. 

It wasn't till later .. much, much later .... that Paul simply said "I'm coming with you tomorrow."  
John, who was getting changed for bed, stopped ... one trouser leg on, one off.  
He looked at Paul who was sitting calmly tucked up in their bed waiting for John.  
"What?"  
Paul smoothed the covers down carefully over his legs, giving himself thinking time, before replying.  
"I'm coming with you tomorrow."  
John gave up trying to balance on one leg and stood there, half in, half out, of his trousers.  
"But .. what .. when ... how ..?" he stuttered.  
A smile flitted across Paul's face.  
"I rang Steve today and asked if I could. If it was alright if I didn't go to the care home tomorrow and he said that .. that ... " a tiny frown creased Paul's forehead. Steve had said a lot of things .. things like 'are you sure?' and 'are you sure you want to do this?' and 'are you sure you'll be okay?' ..... John watched him open mouthed as Paul garnered his scattered thoughts, digging out the information pertinent to John "..... that as long as I was willing to ring the care home and talk to the matron and get her permission it would be fine if it was alright with her, so I did, and .. well ... so ... I'm coming."  
Paul flopped back heavily against his bunched up pillows. That had been a lot of information to process and deliver.  
A slow smile spread across John's face. He'd have Paul by his side. That warmed the cockles of his heart.  
Then a sudden panic set in.  
What if .. oh shit, what if Paul saw any of the men. What if he recognised them? He hastily tugged off his trousers and sat down heavily on the mattress, causing the bed to bounce and Paul's eyes to fly open.  
"Paul" John's tone was urgent "are you sure? Really .. as in, really sure about this?"  
Paul gave a small shrug. "Y'can't do it on your own, Johnny."  
John wasn't sure if it was the right thing. He really wasn't.  
But he leaned in and gave Paul a chaste peck on the cheek.  
"Be great to have you along, babe."


	38. Chapter 38

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So ... this really is part of the chapter but thought I'd publish where I've got up to now as I found covering the trial is going to take longer than I thought. Thanks for the many encouraging comments. Always good to hear from you.  
> Sorry if this seems to stop halfway through but I'll carry on with the next section soon as I can.

Thursday morning found John downstairs early with Ritchie, who looked up in surprise to see him round and about when dawn had not long happened.  
"Y' okay, John?"  
Okay? No, not really. He had hardly slept a wink, conscious all the time of Paul next to him who'd been tossing and turning and mumbling god knows what. He muttered an unintelligible reply to Ritchie who continued to stare at him.  
"The case isn't till ten, is it?"  
John shrugged. No, it wasn't till ten, but .. he had to do something. Anything. Make him and Paul a cup of tea maybe? Jesus, Paul'd think he'd gone mad waking him up before six.  
"You nervous?" Ritchie asked quietly, nailing it in one.  
"Fuck, yeah, just a bit." It helped to acknowledge the fact. John let out a breath.  
"It's the unknown, y'know. What they gonna ask me, like. If I knew before hand ..." he trailed off.  
Ritchie offered the semblance of a smile. "You'll be fine. I know you will."  
John gave one of his famous face pulls. "Gee, thanks, Ritch, for your confidence in me."  
It didn't alter the fact his hands were shaking.  
"Text me later, eh? Let me know how you've got on." Ritchie could see through the thin veneer.  
John nodded. "Yeah, okay. Will do."  
"Paul still asleep?"  
"That lad'd sleep for England given half the chance."  
"Yeah. Guess he would. Anyway .. I'm on an early so I need to head off. All the best, John."  
"Ta."

As the door closed behind Ritchie John twiddled idly with a teaspoon. It was no good going back to bed. He wasn't going to sleep any more. Not now. And his mind was on hyper-drive anyway. He made himself a cup of tea and watched breakfast television. That was something they never did normally. But all the news sailed over his head. As it neared seven he deemed it not too early to wake Paul. He needed company. Otherwise he was gonna go stir crazy.   
Entering the room with a fresh mug of tea he expected to see Paul still asleep, a huddle underneath the duvet, but to his surprise the lad was sitting bolt upright, as if waiting for John, covers neatly tucked round him. Except ... John approached slowly, almost holding his breath ... Paul's eyes were wide in an unblinking stare looking at and seeing nothing. He gave no indication of being aware of John. Moving carefully, John put the mug down on the bedside table before touching Paul's forearm.  
"Paul?"  
Paul visibly jumped, colour flooding into his face. He covered up swiftly.  
"Oh ... hi .. John .." he flustered around, straightening the covers that were already straight.  
John ignored the miniature trauma that was going on. "Awake already? I thought you'd be .."  
Paul was shaking his head, interrupting .."No, no, I'm awake, yeah. All's fine. I'm good." He said it determinedly, as if to convince himself. His eyes sought John's face anxiously. "Are you good? Er, okay, I mean."  
John perched on the edge of the bed and smiled. At least Paul being nervous took his mind off his own nerves.  
"Yeah, I'm fine. Sorry, it's a bit early, but ... well, I was awake, so I made you a cuppa." John left out the fact he'd already been up for over an hour.  
Paul took the cup with a hand that was shaking so much drops of tea spattered on the covers. John firmly covered Paul's hand with his own, stabilising the tremors.  
Paul ducked his head shyly. "Sorry, I'm .. er .. "  
"Paul." John's voice was gentle.   
He heard a small sigh, then Paul looked up at him.  
"You don't have to come, y'know. No one expects you to."  
Paul's glance fell to his cup again, colour staining his cheeks.  
"I want to, though" he insisted quietly. "I can't leave you to do this on your own."  
"Look, it doesn't matter. Honestly, Paul, it's a closed case. Done behind locked doors. No publicity, names kept out of the press .. well, except for the perpetrators, and .."  
"In that case" Paul's voice held a hint of determination "I'll sit and wait for you."  
John sighed loudly, and Paul looked at him.  
"I'm coming, Johnny" he declared in a voice that broached no argument.

Getting dressed took far longer than usual as both men were all fingers and thumbs. Add that to the fact that John was bemoaning the absence of suitable clothing. Paul picked up off the floor the tie they'd been using to tie their ankles together at night ... a routine Paul had still not let go of, convinced that he could harm John in his sleep.  
"You could use this tie ... it's okay" Paul was trying to straighten out the somewhat bedraggled article even as he spoke.  
"An' what am I gonna put it round, Paul? Me bleedin' neck? I haven't got a shirt ... only t-shirts" John finished in a wail.  
"You could borrow one of mine .. look, what about ..."  
"You've gotta be joking ..."  
Paul looked at him wide eyed. "What? Why?"  
John snorted in frustration. "Christ, Paul ... one of yours won't even button up on me."  
Paul's eyes darkened in consternation as he dangled his shirt from his fingertips.  
"Haven't you got anything, Johnny?" His mum had always drilled it into him from being quite young to be aware of his appearance. The idea of not having clothes that could take you to official places had never been a problem for Paul.  
Reluctantly John tugged a rather wrinkled white shirt from the furthest recess of their wardrobe. "There is this, if it still fits me. Might be missing a couple of buttons, though, and it needs ..."  
Before he could finish speaking Paul tugged it from his hands. "I'll see to it .. just get the rest of yourself ready."  
He vanished through the doorway, said shirt in hands, and left John bemused. Downstairs he could hear the clatter of the ironing board being set up, and a few muttered expletives as Paul was obviously hunting for spare buttons.  
"Where's the scissors?"  
John jumped at the sound of Paul's voice yelling up the stairs.  
"Kitchen cabinet, top shelf, left hand side as long as someone hasn't tidied up" he yelled back.  
Less than fifteen minutes later and Paul was back up the stairs with an ironed shirt that now looked far more presentable, missing buttons neatly replaced.  
A huge smile broke out over John's face, and he pecked a quick kiss on Paul's cheek.   
"I knew you'd make a good wife" he teased.  
Paul coloured and muttered "Fuck off" under his breath.  
Then the doorbell rang and they froze. Shit. Where had the time gone?  
"Where's that tie?" John hissed.  
Wordlessly Paul thrust at him their overnight tie and John slung it round his neck.  
The bell rang again.  
Paul did a weird little dance, thrusting his trembling fingers into his trouser pockets.  
He, of course, John noted, looked fucking immaculate. As always.  
"Get the door, eh?"  
Paul's eyes were huge as they looked worriedly at John.  
"Go on, babe" he urged.  
The peal of the doorbell for a third time prompted Paul into action.  
As he thundered down the stairs, John tried again to do the tie. How did Paul manage to do this everyday? Well, most days.  
Voices from the hallway carried up the stairs, through the open bedroom door.  
Steve's voice. Thank God for that. Someone they knew.  
John slipped on his most sober jacket, which happened to be a black and white houndstooth one. Probably not ideal, but better than his denim or leather. Really should get some smarter clothes, he chided himself. Part of growing up, he reckoned. 

Casting a final glance in the mirror and tidying his hair quickly with his fingers, he headed downstairs.  
Paul was in full flow, talking nineteen to the dozen, as he often would with someone he knew well and was confident with. Though John was swift to detect a hint of nervousness in Paul's voice.  
He cut through Paul's meanderings.  
"Morning Steve."  
Paul stopped, open mouthed. Had John just? he'd been? he was? .....   
John grinned at him. "Sorry, love, but there's no sense in waiting for you to stop."  
Paul rolled his eyes.  
"So, both of you, I'm your driver for the day. If you're both ready we can get going because we need to be there before it starts. I have no idea in what order any witnesses will be called. Er ... a small point, but ... have you both eaten breakfast? There can be a lot of hanging around at these places." Steve was both friendly and official at the same time. It really helped. They both nodded.  
"Okay, so .. let's get going and put all this to rest, eh?"

There were crowds of photographers and journalists outside the courthouse, a cacophony of noise and movement as they jostled for places near to the steps in what was promising to be a front page case. No one was being admitted. It was pure guess work by the reporters on who was involved. Who, of all the people arriving, might be of interest. Of importance. The journalists were spilling out onto the street, accidentally stepping off the kerb as they sought for the best vantage point, each one with a photographer accompanying them, lenses being adjusted, photos of people arriving being taken, just in case ... just in case.

Steve's heart sank when he saw the hungry crowd. This was the last thing Paul needed. John's eyes widened at the sight. Blimey, he hadn't realised the case had garnered that much interest. He glanced sideways at Paul just in time to see him unconsciously sink down lower into the backseat, as if he could hide himself. No one would know him, John consoled himself. No one. Steve drove past, as if his intention was not to go there, and pulled over a few yards down the road. The waiting reporters ignored the unmarked private red car. Steve pulled his mobile out and rang someone. His conversation was muffled but John kept a sharp ear out.  
".. mad out here .. yes I have ... no, both of them .. yes ... yes, I know ... no ... come on, you can do it for me ... special case? Brill ... thanks ... okay, be two minutes. I'll just turn the car round."  
Doing a three point turn Steve headed back in the same direction but before they reached the court house a large studded wooden gate swung open, and the car glided inside into a comparative oasis of peace. Steve located a clear space to park in and switched the engine off, swivelling round in the driver's seat to observe the two occupants. John looked worried and Paul looked blank.  
"Bit mad out there" Steve offered. There was no sense in hoping neither of them had noticed. Best give them chance to voice their concerns now rather than hide them away.  
"I .. I didn't realise ... " John swallowed, his words sounding strangled .." it's ... it's a big thing, yeah?"  
Paul was mindlessly playing with his fingers, twisting and picking at them, a separate entity to all that was going on around him.  
Steve offered what he hoped was a reassuring smile. "It's because it's a closed case, John. Tell reporters they can't have access and immediately they want to know what's going on. They won't get anywhere. Once a decision is made they'll be given an official statement. But .. well, they'll still take their chance, won't they? It's what their job is all about. Come on, then, let's get you both in and see if I can find you somewhere quiet for the duration."  
The duration? The duration of what? John wondered. How long was all this gonna take?

As Steve ushered them both into the stately old building via a side entrance, John was struck immediately by the officiality of the place. Smartly dressed people seemed to be milling about everywhere, their accents far more correct than the normal Scouse he was used to hearing. Then there was the smell. His nose twitched. It was ... furniture polish and ... paper ... and ink .. and wood and leather .. and  
"In here lads" Steve's voice broke the spell as he guided them into a small ante-chamber that had high windows and was lined with fitted benches that ringed the room, the padded seats a dark green leather. The smells became much stronger. A weak sunlight filtered through the windows and John glanced up at them. You'd need the climbing skills of a monkey to be able to escape from this place.   
Steve indicated the benches. "Sit down .. anywhere. I'm afraid they're not very comfortable but you'll be relatively undisturbed in here. I'll just go and let the powers that be know that we've arrived, and then I'll be off."  
Beside him, John felt Paul shift. They obviously had the same thought ... that Steve would be with them all day.  
"I thought .. oh .. then who?"  
Steve smiled to calm their anxiety. "I have my normal day's work to do, but someone will come and look after you, okay? They don't bite, I assure you. Just wait here ... I can trust you to do that, can't I?" A small frown creased Steve's face ... was it asking too much of Paul to remain in one place when under stress???  
John threw a quick glance at Paul ... the lad hadn't opened his mouth once since the sight of all those crowds.  
"Yeah, we'll be fine, won't we, Paul?"  
There was no response.  
John nodded at Steve. "We'll be fine" he assured him.  
Steve cleared his throat. "Right. Well .. all the best, John. If there's any problems, you have my number, yeah?"  
He paused as if about to say more, then with a tiny shake of his head he left them.

The door to the outside corridor was left open. There was no need for them to feel trapped. If they'd wanted to get up and walk out they could. And that, John reckoned, was a comforting thought. For a few minutes he watched the ebb and flow of people, captured by the sight of some wearing gowns. It looked like an episode out of a television drama. Of course, he reminded himself, there was more than one court in session at any one time.  
Paul's eyes were fixed determinedly on the toes of his polished shoes.   
John's eyes softened as he looked at him. "You okay, babe?"  
Paul glanced up at John's words. He was busy gnawing the inside of his lip, but he gave a nod.  
"You know, if you wanna go ..."  
John never got his other words out as he was greeted ebulliently by a uniformed officer who had appeared as if by magic, hand outstretched.  
"John, good to see you. You made it."  
John glanced up in surprise. Who? Who?  
There was another, identically dressed, behind him, also beaming and smiling and nodding.   
The penny dropped. Last time he'd seen them they'd been casually dressed. Tom and Sean. Wearing official uniform for their court appearance.   
John rose to his feet and clasped their hands. They'd been through a lot in order to bring this case to court.  
"Good to see you. Good to see you."   
Pleasantries were exchanged all round. They acted as if John was a long lost cousin and not someone they'd only met once.  
Tom's eyes drifted over to Paul who was watching them warily.   
His breath caught. He knew very well who this young man was. He didn't wait for introductions.  
"Hullo? Paul, isn't it, am I right?"  
Paul's eyes widened. How did this man know him?  
John turned, a big smile on his face. Somehow these two guys had brought with them a breath of fresh air.  
"Yeah, this is Paul. Paul, this is Tom ..."  
".. and I'm Sean." Sean stretched his hand out. "Good to meet you. Come along to support John, have you?"  
Sean was curious. Paul was not up for an appearance in this case. In fact, his name had been kept well out of it, and only referred to as 'Exhibit D' because of the photos.  
Paul was not as openly welcoming to the two men, and that was something they both understood as he huddled a little closer to John's side.   
Sean manoeuvred to sit by Paul while Tom perched by John, immediately striking up a conversation about the number of people outside.  
Paul could feel Sean's eyes intently on him. He cringed inwardly. Was he being compared to the photos that John had ...  
"Bit over-awing in here, isn't it? It's okay, though, it's not as officious as it all looks. The staff are human."  
Sean reached out gently with words, his eyes scanning the face that, yes, unfortunately, was familiar from the photos. Gorgous looking guy, he thought to himself. No wonder they'd gone for him.  
"Ha ha, says who?" Tom joked, winking at Sean.  
Paul looked up in surprise, awareness flooding his mind.  
These were a couple. It was so obvious. They were together. Had John not realised?  
Sean gave a small eye roll at Paul. He knew the lad had twigged.  
He settled himself further back on the uncomfortable leather seat.  
"Could be in for a long wait" he explained as he stretched out his legs.  
"Hope you've had a good breakfast" Tom added.  
"What, er, what order do they go in?" John enquired, trying to sound nonchalant about the whole thing as if it was something he did everyday.  
"Well, first all those accused will be up, so that their cases can be delivered, and then it'll go from there, according to what the judge wants. We .. er .." Tom gave a discreet cough, there was no easy way of putting this "... we will be up quite soon as we were expedential in bringing this to light. So .. could be a long morning. But you could be called fairly early on too, John ... they might just want to get the nitty gritty of it out of the way before they settle in for the long haul."  
John raised his eyebrows. He'd been told this would be a fairly clear, closed and shut case.  
Tom shook his head. "Depends. Some might try and wriggle out of what went on. There's, er .. " he glanced sideways at Paul .. he could sense the young man's eyes on him "...  
a few big names involved and it won't look good, so ... I reckon a few'll try and get out of it."  
John balled his fists silently at his sides. Not if he could help it, they wouldn't.  
"So, you're here to support John, are you, Paul? That's good. We all need someone to hold our hands at times like this. Look ... I'll see if there's chance of a coffee trolley going round." Tom stood up, patting his pockets to check he had everything. He inclined his head towards Sean. "You gonna hang out here for a bit? I won't be long."  
Sean nodded an affirmative, and Tom left the room.  
For a moment there was an uncomfortable silence, but then Sean began chatting. He was very easy to get on with, and John imagined he would have been good at infiltrating himself into situations. Paul had huddled even closer to John, and so far had not said a word. John knew it was because Paul was nervous and also because he wasn't good with strangers. It took him a while to gain confidence. Sean really did the best thing out by simply leading a conversation that required no input. 

There was a steady drone of conversation in the corridor, then someone popped their head in the door and said "Mr. Lennon? Can I ask you to step up please?"  
John felt the colour drain from his face and his legs went wobbly, totally incapable of supporting him. Oh God, maybe he shouldn't have said he'd do this.  
"Are you okay, John?"  
He swore that Sean's voice was coming from miles away down a long tunnel.  
He couldn't do it. No. He'd changed his mind.  
Then there was a gentle squeeze on his fingers, and he turned and met Paul's hazel eyes looking at him compassionately.  
"You don't have to do this, Johnny." Paul's voice was so quiet it was unlikely that Sean had heard.  
But it was the spur John needed.  
"Yes I fucking do."  
And he was on his feet and moving in the direction of the courtroom.

Later it was difficult for John to explain how it had gone, only that it was far more taxing than he'd expected.  
The judge was tenacious in his search for the truth, and John found he was having to support his answers far more fully than he'd been aware he needed to do. And the questions required some rather intimate responses which had him blushing. But however difficult he found it, the professionals around him had very bland faces that gave nothing away. John had no idea how long he was in the dock .. it could have been ten minutes or ten hours ... when the judge suddenly cracked a smile that looked out of place on his wrinkled face and informed John that would be all for now and thank you for his co-operation. Feeling numb, he was escorted back to the ante-chamber. The usher was a talkative chap whose job was probably to try and put people at their ease either before or after their grilling.  
"Lot of journo's outside today" he was saying. "Had trouble getting in. Think they're on to something here, I reckon."  
John nodded an agreement, feeling as if he'd just been through the wringer.  
Coming in the opposite direction along the corridor was another usher with an older man heading in the direction of the courtroom.  
John glanced idly up, then did a double take.  
The other guy.  
It was Mark.  
Their eyes met, and Mark coloured and nodded at him.  
So .. he was witnessing too.  
Bully for him!  
John stood up straighter and threw him an acknowledging nod back as they passed.  
Yes! Yes!  
Go for it Mark he silently urged.

The day passed slowly, and it became obvious that the trial wasn't going to be a quick one day affair. They were provided with a lunch and asked to remain in case John was needed again. The clock fingers dragged, and Paul dozed off, slipping sideways against John. John chewed his nails, bored, wishing he'd brought something to read, when at almost twenty to five he was called back in to clarify a point that had been raised. Then it was over for that day.  
"Could take a few days" Tom informed them.  
Paul, having been roused, got dazedly to his feet.  
"See you both tomorrow" said Sean.

Steve appeared as if by magic and took them both home. It was a quiet drive. He'd taken one look at their tired faces and simply bundled them into the car. It was no use asking how it had gone ... neither was in a communicative mood. 

For John the day had been a weird mixture of freneticism and boredom. The clock had dragged when he wasn't required. But, when he had been required ... he shuddered to recall the probing intimacy of the questions. Things he would never have mentioned. Things that would have mortified Paul if he'd known. Yet all done with a calm, calculated detachment. 

For Paul the day had dragged endlessly. Bored out of his mind he'd done the one thing he always did ... sleep. And now he felt groggy and out of sorts and annoyed at himself that he hadn't supported John better. And worried, too. What had they asked John? What had he had to talk about? That not knowing ... it was so difficult. But he didn't want to know. Not really. He just wanted it all to be over.

"Same time tomorrow, lads" Steve had said as he dropped them off.  
John had given a half-hearted wave,  
Paul had disregarded the whole exchange and simply moved mechanically towards the green door.  
Home.  
Escape. 

The following morning didn't hold quite the same urgency as they were more prepared, though they dressed quietly and automatically chewed their way through a breakfast neither of them particularly wanted. When Steve rang the bell both were ready to go, although not looking forward to the day. John because he didn't know how it would pan out and how much more he'd be expected to explain, and Paul because he just didn't cope with boredom. But Steve had a big smile on his face and presented them with a carrier bag.  
John took it bemusedly. "What's this?"  
"Something to stop you two going out of your minds with boredom. Have a look inside."  
Curious Paul pulled open the bag while John held the handles. There was a book of crosswords, a deck of cards, a doodle pad and felt tips and a game of Bananas which Steve explained belonged to their family but that Paul and John were more than welcome to borrow it.  
"Do you know how to play?"  
Paul nodded eagerly. "Yeah, I do. Used to play it with my mam when .. " he paused, then picked up again smoothly. "Yeah, I do. It's a good one. I'll teach y' Johnny" he told his partner.

Finding themselves in the same ante-room as the day before the whole scenario felt different. Tom and Sean arrived with a tray of tea and biscuits and they set out the game on the table. The time flew by, and they almost forgot they were in court until John was suddenly summoned. He stood up paling, and Paul looked at him anxiously.  
"You okay there, John?" Sean enquired.  
He nodded, and followed the usher out.  
Paul chewed his bottom lip thoughtfully, then turned his attention back to the game, casting a curious eye over John's letters. If it was him, he'd make a word from ... ooh .. John obviously hadn't noticed that .. his fingers twitched to do a bit of shuffling when Tom's voice broke into his thoughts.  
"How long you two been together, Paul?"  
He looked up, startled. They were addressing him, and John wasn't here to answer for him, and ..  
Paul swallowed. "Er ... just over a year."  
"How d'you meet?" This was Sean.  
Paul coloured. He certainly remembered their original meeting, but chose to ignore it in favour of the later one.  
"A mutual friend."  
There ... safe answer. He dipped his head back to the table in an effort to deflect any more questioning.  
"John said you're a musician."  
Paul's eyes flicked back up to face them. "Uh huh."  
"What d'you play?"  
He didn't want to be asked questions. His natural reticence set in, and both the uniformed officers felt the swift withdrawal. His response was muttered, unintelligible.  
They glanced at each other, a silent communication ... let him go. Paul fiddled with a few of his letters, forming and re-forming words, and then moved unconsciously onto John's, altering his. He wished John would come back. What was taking him so long? Maybe he shouldn't have come ... maybe he should have gone to the shop as usual. Tomorrow would be Saturday and there'd be no court in session and he'd have to make up at least some of the lessons that he'd not fulfilled yesterday and would miss today, and why hadn't John noticed that he could make a really good word out of his letters which would use most of the remaining ...  
" ... been adjourned."  
He glanced up to see that Tom and Sean were on their feet, faces twisted in puzzlement, and John was there, and the usher was explaining things. Paul was slow to catch on, his brow furrowed. What was happening?  
"Some new evidence has come to light, and one of the witnesses has just given more information that had not been given before, and the judge has decided to halt the procedure pending further enquiries. It's said that a few more arrests are likely to happen first ..." the elderly usher was busy explaining everything to Tom and Sean, disregarding the fact that John and Paul were listening too " ... and that those currently accused are being held without bail being offered. Inspector Cahill said he'll speak to you both as soon as he can."  
"What about us?" John's nasal voice cut through, and the usher started. "Oh, yes, Mr. Lennon, you are free to go. You will be contacted when the case resumes, which will hopefully be in a few days ... pending further enquiries, sir. This is a most unusual situation," the usher added by way of apology. He cast a brief but vague smile at them all, and a nod of amusement at the table set out with games, before leaving. Sean and Tom fell into a swift urgent conversation.  
John plonked himself down beside Paul, and nodded at the various stages of the games spread out in front of him.  
"What you up to then?"  
Paul gave a twisted smile. "Altering yours."  
"Altering it? Why? What's wrong?"  
"Well .. you could have done this word, and that would have used up all your letters and you would have forced everyone to peel and you'd be way ahead ... see ... 'cos there's only those letters left, and then with those and the words I've done you could have used up all the remaining letters and you would have won."  
"And what would I have shouted? Bingo?"  
Paul poked him. "No! Bananas, you daft sod."  
John chuckled. "Bananas? You're bloody bananas, Paul. Honestly."  
"John, Paul?"  
They looked up at Tom's voice.  
"If you two want to go you can. No sense in staying. One of us can drop you at home .. or if you want, at the .. shop, is it?"  
John glanced at Paul. "Shall we go to the shop? No sense in hanging around at home doing nothing. It'll mean you can do the usual lessons."  
Paul nodded, and began quietly gathering together the games on the table.  
"I'll go and borrow a car" he heard Sean say.  
Then John's voice, curious. "What's goin' on exactly, Tom?"  
"No idea. Your guess is as good as mine. I'll know more later, and if I can share the information with you, I will."  
Paul packed everything away neatly into the carrier bag. He could feel his heart hammering against his chest. Could the others hear it? It felt loud. Did it sound as loud as he thought it did? Was this something to do with him? More evidence come to light? Oh fuck ... he almost dropped the pens ... and he wasn't sure if ... maybe he shouldn't .. how many pens were there? Twelve in a packet ... each one a different colour, so ...  
John's hand grasped his wrist, curling round tightly, feeling the beating pulse racing.  
"Sean's got a car round the back. Come on, love."

John and Paul didn't speak about the trial ... not to each other, not to anyone. If asked John would just dismiss the question with an 'okay' which told no-one anything. Paul simply flipped a switch and got on with his life, ignoring the anxious gnawing element inside him that was growing, slowly spreading, taking over, saying it was his fault, it was to do with him, it would be more evidence ... more photos that ..  
CRASH!!!!!!  
.... the shattering of crockery as he dropped a whole tray that he'd been about to carry into the kitchen ... his hands didn't work ... for a moment he didn't know where he was ... he could be ... not Luke .. please, not again ...  
"Hey, hey ... Paul. Come on."  
He sank his head onto John's shoulder, breathing in the familiar smell, shoeless amidst a mess of broken plates and mugs and glasses and food remnants that had splashed up him and up the cupboards.  
"What's the matter, eh?"  
Paul's hands crept round the back of John's neck, finding those soothing little hairs that he could twist his fingers in.  
John didn't really have to ask what was wrong. He knew full well what was worrying Paul. New evidence? He hoped to God his guess was wrong, but a sinking feeling told him he was probably right.

His gut reaction proved correct when he was asked if he'd be willing to go down to the station to have a look at some new images that had been uncovered. Sean, who rang him with this request, sounded tired. Lacklustre. Unusual for a guy who was usually so bubbly. John glanced across at Paul who was watching but not really watching television. How much more of this was there gonna be?  
John sighed. "Yeah, of course I'll come."  
He felt Paul glance over at him.  
"Great. Thanks a bunch John. We'll send a car .. with you in about fifteen minutes. Won't take long .. you know the procedure by now......." there was a pause and some whispering in the background, then Sean continued smoothly " ... Steve said to tell you he's comin' with them and he'll stay with Paul while you're here."  
John glanced into the kitchen where Ritchie was wiping the remains of the accident only a few minutes before off the cupboards.  
"It's okay ... Ritchie's here. He doesn't have to."  
Sean's voice was definite. "He said he does ... have to, that is. See you in a moment."  
There was a despondency settling over Paul that John didn't like the feel of. Almost as if he was giving up ... cutting himself off, so to speak, in order not to get hurt. John hesitated, dithering, wondering how to handle this turn of events. It was no use hoping the phone call had gone over Paul's head because it obviously hadn't.  
"I .. er .. I have to .."  
"I know" Paul's voice was flat. His eyes anywhere but on John.  
Ritchie glanced over. "Y'okay there, John?"  
It was a relief to explain to someone ... and, fuck, Ritchie hardly knew half of what had been going on. Only that something had.  
"I have to go to the station to look at something" He winced as he said the words. Inappropriate use of grammar.  
Ritchie stood up slowly. "To do with the court case?" he asked, screwing the dishcloth up in his hands.  
John nodded, his eyes still on Paul who was playing idly with his fingers and ignoring everyone round him.  
"They .. er .. they're gonna send a car and, em, Steve's coming to stay here for a bit .. while I'm gone."  
He saw Paul start at the sound of his probation officer's name, but he still didn't look up.  
John sighed. "Just wish the whole fucking procedure was done with and we can get on with our lives."


	39. Chapter 39

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow I can't often get chapters up this quickly but this one, unlike the last, wrote itself. A real mixture here ... some angsty, some funny. Enjoy, and keep those comments coming.

John going out passed by Steve coming in. Parked outside the house was a squad car with hazard warning lights flashing. Both men paused and gave a cursory nod at one another, then continued on their way. Steve was swift to pass on, his eyes anxiously searching out Paul. There'd been a lot of informal talk going on down at the headquarters and issues that Steve had been unaware of concerning his client were starting to raise their heads. Paul had improved tremendously and Steve definitely didn't want to see a downturn in his progress, but it appeared likely that additional questioning of the young man might be on the cards. Steve was preparing to battle against that while at the same time devising a plan of support if the occasion arose.

He entered the parlour, and saw Ritchie hovering with tea towel in hand, a hesitant smile on his face. It was obvious from his demeanour that he had obviously no idea what was going on.  
Ritchie gave a nod and a smile. "Hiya Steve. Okay?"  
Paul was sitting curled up on the settee and gave no indication of having heard Steve arrive.  
Yet he obviously had.  
Not a good sign.  
"Can I make you a cuppa?"  
Steve proffered a smile. "Thanks, that would be nice."  
Paul didn't look up as Steve perched next to him, but a slight shift in his position told Steve he was aware of him.  
Steve recognised the bland face. The 'don't disturb me I'm not gonna talk' face.  
The 'if I ignore you then you're not really there' face.  
"Paul?"  
A muscle twitched.  
"How y' doing?"  
Steve could be equally stubborn.  
"You can talk to me, y'know."  
".....  
"There's nothing you can say that I've not heard before."  
"......  
Paul's knee gave an involuntary twitch.  
"........  
"Or we can sit here in silence for the next hour."  
".....  
"If that's what you prefer to do."

Ritchie passed a mug of tea across to Steve, his eyebrows raised in curiosity.  
"Thanks Ritch. How's the wedding plans? All going well?"  
Steve sensed Paul relax as the attention switched from him.  
"Oh, yeah. Everything's ready. All organised."  
Ritchie beamed although at the back of his mind was a quiver of concern. He hoped his two ushers would be okay for it. Really Ritchie had no idea what was going on, why John had been dragged in to a trial, what evidence it was he'd been required to look at. He wasn't sharing with Ritch ... although Ritchie was fairly sure he'd spoken to George ... that visit a week or so ago? Could that have been?  
"Are you going on a honeymoon?"  
"Not straight away, but we hope to in the summer. You can get some cheap flights from Liverpool Airport now."  
Steve nodded understandingly. "Go before or after school holidays then while you can. Prices absolutely shoot up once the kids are off."  
Steve glanced sideways at Paul.  
The lad gave no indication that he was listening to anyone or anything.  
"I .. er ... just need to make me lunch ready for tomorrow. I'm on an early" Ritchie explained by way of an apology as he removed himself. The atmosphere was heavy. Daunting. Ritchie had seen Paul like this before and was relieved Steve was here. He wondered, again, why John had been called back to the station. What the fuck was kicking off?

Steve relaxed back into the settee, stretching his legs out, curling his hands around the warm mug. Okay ... if Paul wanted to sit in silence, let him, but he ... Steve ... was not giving up. He let out a sigh as his head fell back. Oh, it would be nice to close his eyes. Be nice, too, he mused, to see just a little more of his wife and family. Sometimes this job was just so demanding. Although, fair play, no one had asked him to come here tonight. This had been his own decision. He briefly closed his eyes, and became aware that he was being watched. He ignored the sensation. Instead he concentrated on raising the mug to his lips without opening his eyes. Now that required a fair bit of co-ordination. He took a sip of the tea. Ritchie made a cracking cuppa ... just right. It really hit the spot. He released another sigh.

"You didn't have to come, y'know."  
Steve jerked awake, dragged back to reality. He'd been drifting then, just for a sec. And Paul ... Paul had spoken. Keeping it casual, he cranked open an eye and peered at the young man.  
Dark hazel eyes were observing him.  
"Maybe I did" Steve answered laconically without raising his head. Keep it cool, he warned himself.  
He heard Paul exhale noisily through his nose, a little snort of annoyance.  
"What d'you think I'm gonna do, top meself?"  
Steve allowed his head to loll to one side to better make contact with Paul.  
"Yes, as a matter of fact" he replied drily.  
Paul blinked, not sure what to make of that remark. Then he gave a slight shrug.  
"Can't anyway ... they hide all the sharp knives. Think I don't know, but I do."  
Steve sat up, bending his knees, and leaned forward, curious.  
"That so?" he asked.  
A smile tugged the corners of Paul's mouth.  
"They pick somewhere different each night to put them. I've heard them talking about it." He gave another small shrug. "Nice to be trusted, innit."  
Steve placed the mug at his feet, considering his next words carefully. Rarely did Paul respond like this, and he didn't want him to close back off. Did he keep the conversation in a light, joking mood with that undertow of cynicism Paul had brought to it? Or did he try to steer it in another direction.  
"Or maybe they have your best interests at heart, Paul, have you thought that?"  
Paul backed off, flinching as if hit.  
Fuck, Steve thought, shouldn't have said that, should have ..  
"Why did they want John?"  
Steve's breath caught in his throat. Briefly he closed his eyes. Then opened them again to find Paul watching him intently.  
"Not sure, Paul" he hedged, dodging the issue " but .. it might be .. it .."  
"More photos?"  
Their eyes met. Paul's chin had a defiant tilt to it, as if he was trying to be dismissive of the whole affair. But it was a thin veneer that Steve could see through easily.  
He dropped the bullshit. "Probably" was his only word.  
The mask fell quickly.  
Paul seemed suddenly interested in the clock on the mantelpiece, his eyes glued to it.  
Defence mechanism neatly locked in place.  
"Paul, none of this is your fault. Don't blame yourself."  
"But it is, isn't it?"  
Steve was surprised Paul had even responded. He'd expected him to shut off again. He sat up straighter, urgency in his movements.  
"And why is it your fault, eh?"  
Paul's response was swift. "Because I was a stupid little twat daft enough to believe the shit Luke fed me. That's why."  
Steve blinked, startled. "Paul, you were only seventeen .."  
"Seventeen, yeah, old enough to know better. George tried to tell me and I didn't listen to him ... I'm surprised he even fuckin' talks to me now. I just dropped everybody for Luke, and he .. and .. he .." Paul stumbled to a halt and swiped a finger quickly under his eyes. There was a slight sniffle and then he was looking at the clock again, mask back in place.  
"You were very young."  
" ....  
"Paul?"  
The young man blinked slowly. "When will John be back?"  
Steve tried to catch up with Paul's swinging train of thoughts.  
"Soon, I would think."  
There was a pregnant silence. Steve felt Paul wanted to say more, but unspoken words hung heavy in the air. The clock chimed.  
"John asked me to marry him."  
The words were so quiet, a murmur below the last chimes.  
Steve was totally taken aback.   
"That .. that's wonderful, Paul. Congratulations."  
"I don't know if I'd want to marry me."  
Steve frowned, and gave a wry smile. "Odd way of putting it."  
"Would you?"  
Steve's brain raced to catch up on the route Paul's conversation had taken. "Would I what, Paul?"  
"Want to marry me?....."  
"Well, I ..."  
".. considering everything that's gone on? I'm not exactly ...."  
Paul struggled for a moment to find the words. He tried to toss it off jokingly.  
"... I mean ... I'm a bit .. spoiled goods, aren't I?" His breath caught on the last words, and he suddenly took great interest in his fingers, twining them around the loose cuff of one shirt sleeve.  
Steve took a deep breath. Oh Christ! How to handle ...  
" ... said I was just a slut."  
Steve blinked owlishly. "Pardon?"  
Paul turned to look at Steve, a high colour in his cheeks. "Luke. He said I was just a slut."  
Steve saw the vulnerability. The mind games that had changed a personality.   
"I don't think John sees you as that, Paul. And certainly not if he's asked you to marry him."  
"I'm not good enough for him. He deserves better."  
Steve shook his head. "But he doesn't want anyone else, does he? He wants you."  
Paul fiddled with the cuff a bit more, twisting the material until it was like a finger, becoming grubby with the continual twining.  
Steve wished he could look inside Paul's head and see which direction his thoughts were travelling in.  
"I'm not much good." It was quietly spoken.  
Steve's heart sank. He'd heard this mantra before. As had anyone connected with Paul.  
He sensed movement behind him and glanced around to see Ritchie heading in the direction of the stairs, a sympathetic smile on his face directed at Steve. Who was to bet he'd heard similar from Paul before many a time. With a brief nod Ritchie disappeared.  
As Steve opened his mouth to reply he heard the front door opened and next second John was there, concern in his eyes but a smile on his mouth.  
"Phew, back at last. Just in time for beer and bed, eh? Okay Steve?" Even as John asked the question his eyes were scanning Paul's figure.  
Steve rose to his feet. He felt he should warn John to watch Paul, but couldn't do so with the young man there. But .. no .. he probably didn't need to .. it looked like John was on to it. Paul had risen too, cautiously, unsure as to John's response, but John simply leaned over and tugged him into his arms.  
"What the fuck y' been doing with your shirt sleeve, y' daft lad, eh?"  
Steve slammed a bright smile onto his face. "Paul tells me congratulations are in order?"  
Caught wrong-footed, John's mind, which was on a different track completely, struggled to catch up. He felt Paul shift uncomfortably in his arms, and suddenly realised.  
"Oh ... oh, yeah. Thanks."  
He felt Paul squirm, and knew exactly what was going through the younger man's mind ... John wouldn't want him any more ... insinuating photos ... the trial ... second-hand goods ... John could hear it as clearly as if Paul had spoken it out loud. He tightened his arms around the slim figure, and grit his teeth. Bugger if he'd let Paul drag them down again.  
"We just need to get the trial out of the way then we can set a date" John was determined that Paul would know this ... know that he didn't give a fuck what had gone on " ... but we need Ritchie to get married first. Don't want to steal his thunder, do we?" John spoke into the top of Paul's dark hair, the lad having neatly buried himself into John's shoulder.  
John's eyes on Steve were bright, almost steely, with a ferocity that was born of injustice. Like a lioness defending her cubs.  
Steve nodded, backing off. He recognised an intimate moment when he saw one and knew well when to leave alone. He tendered a smile in their direction.  
"Hope I'll get an invite, then."  
John offered a smile in return. "You will, Steve, no doubt of that."

After Steve had left John cracked open a couple of beers for him and Paul, who'd sank listlessly down onto the settee. One eye on him, he reckoned Steve had probably had a hard time. He passed Paul a bottle, and the lad took it from him with the arm that had a dangling cuff, now wrinkled and grubby and button hanging by a thread from all the twisting. He could see Paul's fingers trembling, and knew that he would be curious ... curious as to what had gone on ... why John had had to go ... had there been more photos ... and also there was a reluctance on his part to ask ... as if he didn't really want to know ....   
John plonked heavily down beside him and squeezed Paul's thigh, making him start, spilling a little of the beer.  
"What y' been up to then, while I've been out?"  
Paul went to reply, didn't know what to say, tried to take a swig from the bottle instead to hide his confusion, then nearly choked as he realised his throat had closed up and fucking tears were streaming down his face, and ... he heaved for breath, wiping the tattered sleeve across his eyes, making it even worse. John swiftly put his beer down and yanked Paul into his arms. The bottle tipped in all directions, liberally covering them both, and he found he was struggling with a squirming, wriggling Paul who was muttering something about not being good enough between hiccups and sobs.  
"Whoa ... ey up, what the fuck are you going on about? Stop ... bloody hell, just stop wriggling, will y'?"  
John caught the bottle from out of Paul's fingers and removed it before any more beer spilt, his other hand digging into Paul's biceps. He felt the lad go limp, and he tugged him into his arms.  
"What was all that about?"  
Paul gave a sniffle and wiped his nose with the back of his sleeve again. His eyes were red and his hair messy and he looked like something the cat had dragged in, not the normal immaculately turned out partner John had grown used to. John ran his hands soothingly up and down Paul's arms.  
"Come on .. talk to me, love. Don't do this. What y' worrying about, eh? The fact that there's more photos?"  
He felt Paul freeze, and dark eyes cautiously peered up at John.  
"'cos if y' wondering, yeah, that was what it was. More of the same. Well, not the same, but ... y'know .. same scenario."  
John's hands continued the soothing rubbing, and he spoke as if to himself, not looking at Paul, but aware that Paul's eyes were on him.  
"They thought there might be. It was .. was one of the guys ... one of the other witnesses .. mentioned another couple of names and apparently there's been another round of arrests ... nobody being allowed bail .. and that's what's halted the trial while they do more investigation." John continued talking to the space in front of him. Paul was still within his arms, as if frozen. "I didn't realise there were so many bastards out there. They're not sure when the trial will continue now .. other than it will, at some point. So .. we just move on with our lives until then. After all, it's Saturday tomorrow. Busy day .. and teaching, of course ... " John glanced down to find eyes still firmly fixed on him " .. for you. So we both need to get a good night's sleep, put all this behind us, 'cos nothing else is gonna happen for a bit, and just .. move on, like."  
He dropped a swift kiss on top of the dark hair. "Yeah?"  
Paul was open-mouthed, gazing at him ... so many words ... so much to take in ... and .. John hadn't slung him out. Hadn't cast him off.  
It was a matter of time, surely .. just a matter of time until ...  
"Have you eaten?"  
Paul swallowed, blinked ... why was John being so ... normal? After everything ... after ...  
"Were they awful?" He didn't know why he'd asked. He didn't want to know. No .. not really, but .. it was the unknown. He didn't remember ... couldn't recall them being taken .. he must have been ..  
A frown crinkled John's forehead. "What? Was what awful?"  
Paul licked his suddenly dry lips, aware of the beer staining his jeans. God he must look a mess. Certainly felt one.  
"The .. the photos."  
John's eyes darkened. "How can anything with you in it be awful, eh? Come on .. let's get to bed. I'd get you another drink, but you might decide to throw the next one up the wall or summat." John shifted in preparation to rise to his feet, but Paul's next words halted him.  
"I .. I don't know why you still want me ..." they were just a whisper.  
John froze.  
"I mean ... I might not .. want me, that is. I understand, y'know. If ... if you don't ... I wouldn't blame you." Paul shifted his body sideways, shielding his face from John's line of vision.  
John heaved a sigh. "Fucking hell, Paul. Astonishing sense of self-worth you have there, son." He chewed his lip. "Well ... to answer your question ... I've told Mimi we're gonna call round and see her on Sunday because we have some very important news for her. And I just hope, as my future husband, you are gonna be at my side when I drop the bombshell ... " John saw Paul's eyebrows shoot up in alarm, and he modified his sentence quickly " ..... when I surprise her. Yeah?"  
He could see Paul mulling over the words, considering, thinking, sorting out ... did John mean??  
John reached out and grasped the hand that extended from the grubby cuff, giving the fingers a squeeze. Their eyes met. He softened his voice.  
"Aye, lad, it ain't gonna be plain sailing an' I reckon there's gonna be a lot to get through yet, but I ain't givin' up on y', and I hope you ain't giving up on y'self either. We can do this, Paulie. One day, when we're old and grey and wrinkled and got forty cats and twenty dogs, we might just look back on all this and have a good laugh ... well, maybe not a laugh, particularly, but .. just realise that this is just a difficult passage we have to get through, but we will get through it, yeah?"  
Paul's eyes were on him, listening to every word. John smiled. "Yeah?" he asked, more quietly. He received a nod in return.  
"Good. Now ... bed" in one swift movement John yanked Paul to his feet, catching the figure as he stumbled unsteadily, and pointed him in the direction of the stairs. With a friendly wack on his bottom John added " An' no hanky-panky tonight 'cos I'm too tired and we have to be up for work."

Paul was asleep within minutes of stumbling tiredly into bed, exhausted by the mental demands the day had placed on him. John, despite his earlier words, was much more awake, and took his time, his eyes occasionally flitting across the room to rest on Paul's slumbering figure.   
It had been Mark who'd suddenly announced his knowledge of three other guys who had not been convicted.  
And those three, once apprehended, had spilled the beans on yet another five.  
It was like watching a pack of dominoes fall.  
And in the middle of all this had been Paul.  
A totally defenceless young lad.  
For John it explained a lot of what seemed sometimes to be irrational behaviour.  
It certainly explained the lack of self-worth.

John yawned and rubbed his eyes.  
It had been a gruelling night.  
Locked ... figuratively ... in a room with Sean and Tom and an Inspector whose surname was Cahill going through a bunch of what were, in no uncertain terms, demeaning images. Tom had stood protectively by John's side.  
"Remember .. one glance and pass on .." same advice as last time.  
It looked as if the trial would not pick up again for a while. Too much rubbish to rake through.  
It wasn't that the inspector was lacking in compassion ... it was that he had a job to do. He couldn't stop and be sympathetic in the way Sean and Tom had been.  
"I'd like to interview him" he'd said.  
John's head had shot up in alarm.  
No. No. No. No.  
It was Sean who stepped in swiftly.  
"Not a good idea" he'd urged, although gently. "It was all quite a trauma and he's just getting over it all. Starting to improve. It could upend him again."  
The inspector's eyes narrowed. He didn't like being opposed. "But ..."  
"We have on medical records two episodes of attempted suicide, and without doubt there have been others, although unrecorded. I don't think we could trust recollections even if he was willing to do it. I think the young man in question was in a daze during most of that period."  
"He remembered names, though"   
Even as John said it he could have kicked himself.  
Three pairs of eyes swung to him ...   
John coloured.  
"Paul ... he .. he has a notebook. I think he used it as .. well, I dunno what you'd call it ... therapy? On one of the pages he's written a list of names. I know that one was Luke Stabton's ... it's the first one on the page" as he spoke the words the names drifted in front of him again ... the second one had been Dean's ... bloody bastard.  
There was silence. Then ...  
"Can we see it, John? Would he let us look at it?"  
Fuck! "He doesn't even know I know about it"  
All three men gazed at him in amazement.  
"I found it one day, and .. well .." John shrugged and coloured even more. He tried to justify his actions. "I thought it might explain a bit about him .. why he acts the way he does sometimes ..."  
... their gazes remained firmly fixed on him. He squirmed. These were all cops. They could see through him.  
" ... an' .. well, I was curious." John shrugged. "Not a good excuse, I know."  
"Can you get the notebook to us then without him knowing?" Bloody hell, this Inspector Cahill was a determined man.  
John licked his lips. He was uncomfortable with going behind Paul's back.  
"I could try."  
The inspector nodded.

Paul shifted in his sleep, and John's eyes were drawn back to him.  
Poor kid looked wrecked.  
The fear of having the dirt on you dragged back up.  
Of being exposed.  
Bound and ...  
No.  
John shut his eyes, driving the images away.  
He sighed and chucked his shoes across the room.  
Did he ask Paul for the book?  
Did he try and nick it? Smuggle it out?  
What would that do to their relationship?

Finally, he did what Paul always did.  
Packaged everything away and shut it in a box in his head.  
Nothing was gonna happen yet.  
Nothing.  
And for now he was gonna get on with his life and make sure Paul did too.

*********************************************************

Paul clenched John's hand tightly.   
John could feel the nails digging in to the palm of his hand.  
Paul was dithering. Nervous.  
So was he.  
Maybe it was easier to face a jury and a judge than Mimi.  
Mentally John tried drawing a white curly wig such as judges wear over Mimi's head.  
Actually, she looked the part.  
Even more scary.  
He felt Paul jump, and realised the door had been opened.  
"John."  
It was a statement. Not a greeting. Mimi didn't do greetings. She did, however, do statements.  
He turned to Paul who ..  
...who ..  
... was behind him?  
His lips tugged in a grin, and he cocked an eyebrow.  
"Come on, significant other."  
Paul reluctantly emerged.  
To John's astonishment ... and not a wee bit of jealousy .. Mimi's aspect softened.  
There .. quick .. a hint of a smile.  
"Paul."  
Less of a statement.  
Now .. hang on .. this wasn't fair.  
"Come in, both of you. You said you had important news, John?"  
"Bloody hell, let's get in the house first."  
"Language, John. How are you Paul?"  
Paul opened his mouth but nothing came out.  
Oh God he was nervous .. maybe she didn't want him to marry John ... maybe ... maybe ..  
"He's good, aren't you, Paul?"  
John dug him viciously in the ribs and Paul stammered a few words, as if John had sprung them out of him.  
What those few words were Mimi couldn't tell.  
Neither could Paul.  
She frowned, then just as swiftly wiped the frown away.  
Didn't want to scare John's young friend away, after all.  
This was the first decent looking lad John had ever arrived home with.  
A big improvement on most of the wannabe teddy boys he'd trailed through the house before she had thrown them and, ultimately, John, out.  
Even if he was .. slightly .. strange?  
There .. there it was again ... those unblinking eyes fixed on her.  
She made a mental note to ask John ... out of his hearing, of course ... if there were problems she should be aware of.  
She smiled, and Paul hid behind John again.  
Mimi's smiles were scary, baring her teeth like that.  
Paul felt John's hand seize his arm in a vice-like grip.  
Now John's smile was scary too.  
Paul felt he was surrounded by wolves.  
"Sit down. I've made the tea. I was hoping you would be on time and .. well .. "she looked surprised " lo and behold you are. Tea, Paul?"  
She asked tentatively, remembering his first visit to the house.  
And his second.  
He hadn't stopped talking for one moment.  
She wondered with some slight trepidation what this visit would be like  
Third time lucky, she assured herself.  
Paul looked at John, who gave him an encouraging nod.  
"Yes please."  
There. He'd done it. Simple as that.  
He buttoned his mouth tight, afraid to open it in case dribble came out.  
"John?"  
"Ta, Mimi."  
She poured them a cup each and settled herself back on her favourite armchair like a queen holding court.  
"So ... what is this important news?"  
"We're getting married."  
She blinked. She registered the statement. She considered it.  
"What? Both of you? At the same time? Bit of a coincidence, isn't it?"  
"To each other Mimi."  
Her mouth fell open. No, she must have heard incorrectly.  
"To .. to each other?"  
Paul slid down lower and tried to hide behind his teacup, which was not an easy feat as it was very dainty.  
He didn't think this was going to go down well.  
"But ... but ..."  
He slid a bit lower.  
"You can't .. you ... you can't do that, John."  
Definite on that one.  
John held on to his smile although it looked more strained.  
"And why not, Mimi?"  
She cast an observant eye over him. Was he pulling her leg?  
"Well ... because you are both men, of course!"  
John blinked. "Really? How observant. I'd never noticed that."  
"John!"  
"Mimi!"  
Paul found if he wriggled then the cushions of the settee absorbed more of his body.  
Slowly he began to disappear from view.  
"You are joking, John. Tell me you are joking?"  
"Er ... no? We're not ... I ...am ... going ... to ... marry ... Paul" He turned on the last word to discover his husband to be had almost succeeded in vanishing.  
Paul looked back at him from wide eyes.  
John groaned and sank his head into his hands.

"That went down well, I think" said John, emptying his third bottle of beer down his throat.  
Paul looked curiously at him. How much had he drunk? Or had he been at a different house to Paul?  
Gone down well?  
Paul remembered their visit being cut quite short,  
In fact, he didn't think he'd quite finished his tea.  
But then, the teacup had become equally absorbed by the cushions.  
John ran his hand experimentally down the long length of Paul's thigh that nestled against him.  
Paul shivered. A little spark in his groin.  
"So, significant other, what do you think?"  
Paul blinked at him. Think? What of? Of what?  
John's hand did another run.  
Paul didn't think he could think of anything at the moment, unless ....


	40. Chapter 40

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry .. not very proud of this chapter .. it's bitty and wandering, but I needed to get something up and life has been incredibly busy. I'll try to do better next time, and thanks for all the lovely comments.

Sliding out from under the duvet and perching on the edge of the bed, John switched his phone on to check the time and blinked in surprise at the notification of five new texts.  
He retrieved his glasses from the bedside cabinet to better read the messages, and was aware of Paul squirming round in the bed, a hand patting the space John had just vacated as he tried to ascertain if he was now on his own in the bed.  
"John? Johnny?" An eye peered blearily from under the covers. "What y' ..." a yawn interrupted any further questions, and Paul rolled over, taking the duvet with him, his final words muffled into the mattress. "Notyetdonthaveto.." and he determinedly screwed his eyes shut. John rolled his eyes, and focused back on the texts. 

Stu ... wondering how things were going as he'd not heard from John and would he like to meet up for a drink.  
George ... asking how did it go with Mimi? John rolled his eyes again. A story for another day there.  
Sean ... checking that they were both okay and keeping their peckers up.  
Steve .... he was their lift for the day and had some exciting news. See them at nine fifteen.  
Rob ... there was rumour of a big record collection being sold off Chorlton way and he was heading over to see if anything was worth grabbing. P.s. bar of chocolate in the fridge for Paul.

John looked up from the small screen, his eyes adjusting to the beautiful May sunlight that was pouring through the windows. Five texts.   
He squirmed round but all he could see of Paul were tufts of dark hair sticking out from under the tightly wrapped duvet. He'd make a bet the lad wasn't really asleep. Just waiting for John to get up and make him tea. He paused, thinking. Since the advent of Paul into his life he didn't usually get many texts. His world had shrunk to the size of Paul's, and that was miniscule. What with the curfew and Paul's sentence and the restrictions placed on him they hadn't gone far and hadn't mixed very much. They hadn't been in a position to .. and John wasn't really sure if Paul would have wanted to either. He wondered what Steve's news was? Checking his phone again he noted that the text had been sent very early that morning. As in 6.02 early. Did that guy never sleep?  
John poked Paul in what he estimated was his bottom. "Oy, dozy Dora, want a cup of tea?"

The doorbell rang five minutes early. John, humming a tune, went to answer it. He could hear Paul in the bathroom humming the same song but in a different key. It was rare for whoever gave them a lift to ring the doorbell. Usually they just waited outside. Steve stood there, a beaming smile on his face.  
John stood back to let him in. "We're nearly ready. Paul's just washing his hands. What's the news then?"  
Steve walked briskly into the living room as Paul entered through the kitchen. "Ah, morning, Paul. Right, well. John, I'm going to drop you off at the shop then my boss wants to see Paul .. it won't take .. Paul?"  
Paul had gone white, then his face flooded with colour, then drained white again. John grasped him swiftly, convinced he was going to pass out.  
"It's okay .. there's nothing wrong .." Steve hastened to assure him.  
"They're not ... not gonna ask me about ..." Paul swallowed audibly " about anything? Are they?"  
"No, no .. it's just ..."  
"Can John come?"  
John felt pulled. With Rob away he'd be relying on John to hold the shop, but he couldn't leave Paul in a state.  
Steve shook his head firmly. "No, John can't come. Not for this." John didn't know whether to be annoyed or relieved. "However, I can stay with you throughout. You'll be okay, Paul. I'll drop you back at the shop in about an hour or so."  
John gave Paul's arm a reassuring squeeze.  
"Go on, you'll be okay with Steve."  
Paul was nervous, his confidence having run out through the toes of his shoes. "What do they want me for?"  
"Not my place to say, but nothing horrendous, I promise."

It was just turning eleven when John saw the police car pull up outside the shop on the double yellow lines, hazard warning lights flashing, and Paul's tall figure emerged from the passenger door. The shop bell jingled and next second Paul was round the counter, an ecstatic smile lighting up his face, straight into John's arms.  
"They've ended my sentence."  
"What?"  
"My sentence. They've cancelled it. Look!" Paul pulled up his trouser leg. "They've taken the tag off and .. I can go out. Anywhere."  
Anywhere. Paul didn't know how to handle this information. For years his life had been restricted. It was as if someone had just handed him the moon. He didn't know what to do with it.  
"Well .. why? Did they say?"  
Paul frowned. The head of the probation services had said a lot of things .. most of which had gone over the top of Paul's head. "I ... I dunno. Something about it having been reconsidered in the light of recent evidence .. or something like that." Paul didn't want to look too closely at why .. his mind shunned the fact it might be anything to do with those photos. He paused, chewed his lip, then brightened again all within a split second. "I can go out Johnny."  
His smile would have lit up a dark sky.  
John gave him a hug. "Then go out we will. I'll take you for a drink tonight, how's that?"

Paul's euphoria bounced him through the day and was infectious, no matter how cautiously John tried to treat the news. The shop was cleaned and tidied to within an inch of it's life as Paul worked off all his excess energy, and his pupils, at the end of the day, found themselves dumbfounded at the speed their lessons took.

John, true to his word, took Paul out for a drink. And before the clock had even reached nine thirty he found he had Paul fast asleep on his shoulder, totally worn out from the excitement of the day. John ignored the rather quizzical stares that were being directed his way and concentrated on finishing Paul's drink as well as his own before dialling for a taxi to get them both home.

Once Paul was tucked safely in bed, John set about replying to all the texts of that day. His last one was to Steve ... he hesitated over the number, then, in a snap decision, pressed 'call'. Steve sounded sleepy, and John had a twinge of guilt before more urgent matters took over.  
"John?"  
"Yeah ... hi. Steve, what's this about Paul, and why?"  
"Ah .. yes. Sorry .. it wasn't my place to inform you. Bit complicated. I bet Paul didn't take much of it in, did he?"  
"He said his sentence had been reconsidered in the light of recent evidence."  
John heard Steve's breath catch. The probation officer was surprised that Paul had recalled even that.  
"Is it to do with the photos, Steve?"  
John could almost see the man chewing over his reply. "Indirectly, yes, John. I'm not privy to everything that's been discussed, but that is part of it. I understand too that among the recent arrests other evidence has come to light. I think .. although don't quote me on this .. that the prosecuting service feel Paul should never have been sentenced."  
John snorted. "I could have told them that."  
"Yes ... I expect you could, but from a different viewpoint, John. The law can only work with the evidence it has."  
John hummed doubtfully. He would take a lot of convincing. "So .. the trial?"  
Steve's reply was swift. "Not likely to start again for a good while, I would think."  
"And is Paul still gonna be kept out of it?"  
Hesitation. Hesitation. "It depends, John."  
"On what?"  
"On Paul's mental state. He may be able to furnish the court with certain details that are otherwise unknown to them, but .."  
"He won't want to."  
"I know. I know. Believe me, John, I do understand. But as he improves it may be that he would want to."  
"What if he doesn't improve?"  
"What?"  
"What if he doesn't improve? I mean .. I don't know how much he remembers. And what if remembering throws him back again? I've seen those photos, Steve ... he was fucking drugged in them. When he remembers things it's usually 'cos he has a nightmare or 'cos something sets him off, but they're not clear memories. They're confused. He's confused. I don't think it would be a good thing. I really don't."  
"Fair enough. I'm afraid none of that is my decision."  
"Whose it is then?"  
"Head of prosecuting services."  
"Sean doesn't think it's a good idea."  
"He's a good guy."  
"I don't want Paul to be asked."  
Steve sighed. "I'll put your concerns forward, John. Don't know if they'll listen to me. I'm only small fry in all this."  
John grunted. "So .. he can go out then? Anywhere? No restrictions? No ties?"  
"He can indeed."  
"And .. his safety? Is he okay now, do you think? I mean ... all those lifts you've given us, an' that."  
"The official line would be that we are fairly confident that any threat to Paul or, inadvertently, you are removed. The unofficial line, from me, is that I reckon you'll both be okay now, but just keep your wits about you."  
There was a pause. John could hear Steve breathing. The next words were softly spoken.  
"There's no nice way of putting this, John. Paul was a desirable piece of equipment in the games they were playing, and we've taken their toy off them. They won't like it. Just take care .. of yourself and him."  
A shiver ran down John's spine.

********************************

It was a letter from Mimi in her spidery handwriting. A white envelope addressed to J.W. Lennon. Esquire. John's mouth twisted in a wry smile. Only Mimi would address him like that. Before he opened it he checked for Paul's whereabouts .. if it was rude in any way he didn't want his boyfriend subject to it. After a moment he realised he could hear water running ... yup, of course, the shower. He slit open the envelope and read the one page letter. Brief and to the point, as his aunt always was.

'John, I may have been hasty. I have asked around and to my astonishment I have found out that apparently a man can now marry a man. If this is the case and you have decided definitely to marry your little friend (John rolled his eyes) then I want to be involved. I do feel I have that right, however unorthodox the occasion. I do not know if you are planning a church wedding or a registry office, but I hope it is the former. If you are not going to, at some point in your life, make me a surrogate grandmother, then the least you can do is let me arrange the reception. I will talk to you soon. P.S. Does Paul have any special needs I should be aware of?'

John perched on the arm of the settee, tears of laughter streaming down his face. Really. His aunt just took the cake. Once he could draw breath, he read the letter again, seeing it in a different light. Do the reception, eh? He and Paul hadn't got as far as that yet. Hell, they didn't even have a date. And church wedding? Church???

He dropped the question later to Paul, casually, over an evening meal.   
Paul was looking devastatingly sexy with his hair all wavy from the steam of the pasta he'd just finished cooking. John eyed him speculatively.  
"Hey, babe, where do you wanna get married?"  
Paul paused, twirling the spaghetti thoughtfully round his fork.  
"I don't really mind as long as it's a church."  
John's jaw dropped open and remained open.  
Paul calmly carried on eating.  
"Church?"  
Paul blinked. Did he have to answer another question? Questions were ... well, a bit boring. And then he couldn't always remember HOW he'd answered them and ended up getting in a tangle. Shouldn't he have said church? It was just .. if he was gonna marry John he wanted to do it properly, so to speak. Visions of statues and incense and Stations of the Cross and rosaries danced in his head. He closed his mouth with a snap. He'd said the wrong thing, hadn't he?  
"Paul, if you want to marry in a church we'll marry in a church. Bloody hell, I'd marry you on top of the Liver building if that's what you wanted."  
Paul chewed his way around a big pile of spaghetti and mumbled something that sounded to John like 'Imcaflicso'.  
John frowned. What? What?  
Paul swallowed with difficulty and enunciated clearly "I'm Catholic so I .. I would .. I mean .." he trailed off. John was gazing at him in ... disbelief?  
"You're Catholic?"  
Paul nodded.  
"Well, bugger me."  
John recovered quickly. "Not that there's anything wrong in that, love, obviously, I just didn't know" ... inside he was thinking how his staunchly C of E aunt would squirm at the thought of him not only marrying a man but marrying a Catholic man! "Well, er, I don't think the Holy See has come quite as far as that yet, babe. We'd need to find a denomination willing to do it."  
Paul's face registered surprise, and John was struck again by how uninformed Paul was over certain aspects of everyday life.  
He hastened to reassure him. "I'm sure we can find a church that would, though. Some do exist."  
"Oh .. oh, right. Okay." Paul returned to his meal and seemed content to let John sort it all out.  
"So ... er ... Mimi wants to do the reception" John wasn't sure how much of a bombshell this would be for Paul.  
He wasn't sure what Paul actually thought about his aunt other than describing her as 'scary'.  
Which, by the way, he completely agreed with.  
Paul looked up at him quizzically, his mouth, unfortunately, full of spaghetti again, with a few strands of it dangling down.  
"Pepon?" he said from behind it all. At least that's what it sounded like to John.  
John solemnly handed him an opened bottle of beer.  
Paul took a deep swig and tried again. "Reception?"  
"Yeah. You know .. after the marriage ceremony you have a reception? Where all your friends who come to the wedding get together to eat, drink and make merry to the happy couple?"  
Paul rolled his eyes. "I know I've led a sheltered life, John, but I do know what a reception is. I guess ... I .. sort of thought .. well .. we don't ... I mean, I don't .. have many " John frowned, trying to follow Paul's train of thought " .. people .. y'know .. to come .. like .. family .. and ..well .." he shrugged uncomfortably, his eyes skittering off to various corners of the room in the way he did when he was nervous. John bided his time, waiting to see where this was going. " I mean .. I don't .. y'know, family .. an' .. and that. Just George." He finished the sentence determinedly, swinging back to meet John's eyes and taking another swig of beer.  
John blinked bemusedly. What the fuck was he supposed to make of that gobbledegook?  
He leaned forward curiously. "Are you trying to say you don't want a reception? The lad that wants a church wedding doesn't want to do the other bit?"  
Paul squirmed, colouring. "I don't ... I mean ... well, I've only got George to ask."  
"Nonsense!" John was abrupt and Paul flinched. He didn't like it when John became sharp toned. It reminded him of .. of .. no. No. Don't go there, Paul.  
"You have Rob and Jacob, who are your friends just as much as mine. We will have Ritchie, with Lottie, and Ritchie thinks as much of you as I do. Well .. maybe not quite as much, or he'd be trying to marry you too. And then there's George's family" he noticed Paul colour and go to stammer a refusal, then tightly button his mouth again " ... in fact, I'm sure Louise would love to come. After all she thinks a lot of you too. And then there's Trevor from the hospital and the friends you made there. Then there's Stu .. okay, okay, not your friend, maybe, but I'd like to invite him. He can paint a wedding portrait for us. And that's just the first guests I can think of, all of whom would be very hurt if you left them out. So ..."  
By now Paul's eyes were huge and he was gazing at John in awe? horror? amazement? concern?  
John wasn't quite sure what to read into his expression.  
For a moment there was a pregnant silence.  
Then .. "Can't we just run off to Gretna Green and get married?"  
John burst out laughing. He clutched Paul's hand, who didn't understand why the laughter.  
"Honestly, Paul, you do take the cake. Don't you want these people to come?"  
He was chewing his lip. John softened his tone.  
"What's the matter babe?"  
"I .. I thought it would be just you and me."  
"Getting married it will be. But surely you want some guests? Some friends along? I mean, at the very least we need a best man. And I thought .. well, it's up to you, but if George has done it for Ritchie he'll have the experience and I'm sure he'll do it for us. And, anyway, Mimi'll have my guts for garters if I don't invite her. She wants us to have children so she can become a surrogate grandmother."  
Paul's eyes widened in disbelief. "Chil.. children?" he stammered.  
John gave his fingers a squeeze. "Joking. Just chill. Look ..." John sighed "if you really don't want to have anyone, fine. Just you and me, okay? I'll do that. But there will be people who will be hurt if we leave them out. Not least of all George. You can't not invite him. If it hadn't been for him looking after you in the first place I may never have met you ... I owe him that at least."  
A faint smile touched Paul's face at the mention of George's name.   
"Okay .. I get it. Can I .. think about it all? Please?"  
"Sure. Take your time. Once Ritchie's wedding is out of the way we'll think of a date and see where we can marry. I'll do a bit of research. Then we can sit down together and do a guest list. How's that? Alright?"  
There was a tiny nod and John reckoned he'd best be content with that. He probably wouldn't get anymore today.

*************************************************

It was early in the morning and the room was just starting to get light, the first stray sunbeams landing upon the old, slightly faded wallpaper on the far wall. John lay still, not giving any indication to the young man resting upon him that he'd woken, and with a tiny smile experienced Paul's manoeuvres. Paul was going all over John's broad chest with the tip of his nose, sniffing and snuffling, but daintily, so quietly, so as not to wake what he thought was a sleeping figure. After a few minutes of this ... and John had to try very hard not to sneeze when stray strands of Paul's hair kept trailing across his nose ... Paul's right arm slid down, very gently, over John's shoulder, tracing it's way to the back of his neck, and gently, so gently it was like a whisper, he felt Paul's fingers stroking the fine hairs at the nape of his neck. Finally Paul began wriggling, squirming about, as if by some miracle of nature he could bury himself into the man beneath him and become part of him. This, of course, caused a rather obvious reaction from John as he felt a burning begin in his groin. He stuck it as long as he could then suddenly took firm hold of Paul and flipped him over, pinioning him gently underneath him.  
Paul's eyes were wide in surprise.   
"Oh" was all he managed before John captured his lips in a deep kiss.  
John pulled back in amusement. "What were you doing?" he enquired.  
Paul blushed endearingly.  
God but John was gonna have to fuck him.  
"Smelling you" he admitted sheepishly.  
John's grin grew. "That good, eh?"  
Paul squirmed beneath him, and that only increased John's desire.  
"I think so."  
After a moment's pause, while John considered the face now lying on his pillow, he reached behind him and pulled the duvet over them both.


	41. Chapter 41

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this chapter quite quickly because I wanted to get an update in, so it may not be fantastic .. but ... it is the wedding ... Ritchie and Lottie's, that is ... and I'll do my best to have another update along soon.   
> Look forward, as always, to the comments.

Paul felt himself tossed, flailing helplessly like a rag doll with useless limbs, caught by another pair of arms, then tossed again. He felt sick from the motion, not helped by the fact he was blindfolded .. or so he assumed as he couldn't see .. but all his senses lagged, sluggish, drugged. Another pair of arms captured him. He wasn't sure if he was on his feet or not ... everything was spinning around him with dizzying force and the feeling of nausea increased. His fingers grasped out, trying to find some purchase, and he heard a burst of raucous laughter off to the right of him as he was thrown again. The next arms that caught him were firmer, gripping tightly, a hand sliding down his body, down his back, fingers exploring, someone's breath gusting hot in his ear ...he shuddered, revulsion and fear prickling his skin ... he wanted to struggle but was so, so ... weary .. unable to move .. he felt the bile rise in his throat .. he was gonna be sick .. he was ..

"Paul?! Jesus Christ."  
An exclamation. A swift scrabble of movement by him.  
His eyes shot open, almost blinded by the light. Had they removed the blindfold?  
He didn't have time to think as another wave of nausea overtook him and he vomited .. somewhere .. somewhere ..  
..... he could feel it warm over his hand ... smell the stench.   
..... he was .. he thought he was ...  
"Paul? Come on .. come on, love."  
Arms were tugging him, pulling at him.   
He wanted to fight against it, against being manhandled, but ...

"...here ... come on ... sit up ... sit up ...come on ..."  
The voice. That voice. It was gentle. Caring.  
Hardly daring to believe, he warily opened his eyes to find himself being closely watched by a pair of amber eyes.  
He stared back, unblinking, for a moment. Unsure. Who was this?  
For that moment in time his nightmare was far more real than the person next to him.

John, drawing himself up in bed to better help his partner, saw the bewilderment, and knew for certain that Paul had no idea where he was or who John was. Normally John would have brought him round gradually, but with the bed and Paul himself covered in vomit he had no time for niceties. He darted off the bed with a curt 'stay there' and shot down to the bathroom, cursing these old houses that still had such facilities downstairs rather than up.

In the kitchen Ritchie paused, spoon halfway to mouth "Summat wrong?" at John's frantic state, hair sticking up, half blind without his glasses.  
"Paul's just thrown up everywhere ... got a bowl? A cloth? Or something? Anything. He's not with it ...... doesn't know where he is or who he is and I don't wanna leave him ..."  
Need someone in an emergency, ask a hospital porter. Within seconds it seemed to John Ritchie had gathered together everything that was needed and was heading upstairs, a determined look on his face, John close on his heels.  
"Is it something he ate?" Ritchie asked, a frown creasing his face as he'd cooked the meal the previous night and had not suffered any ill effects.  
John, feeling he'd been flung from sleep and hadn't yet properly come round, was puffing behind. "No. No, don't reckon ... it just .. it was sudden .. think he was asleep. I dunno, Ritch."

Unhesitating, Ritchie entered the bedroom and went straight over to Paul, who was sitting, totally lost, in the middle of the bed, his eyes still confused. Although Ritchie recoiled slightly at the stench he nonetheless approached quickly, and found Paul watching him questioningly. A bit disturbing, that.  
"How y' feeling?"  
Those dark eyes fixed onto him, giving no indication that he'd heard. It was as if Paul was trying to work out who he was.  
"Shall I get the bed clothes off?"  
John's voice brought Ritchie back round. "What? Oh, yeah, yeah ... I'll just try and clean him up."   
Ritchie rung out a flannel in the bowl of warm water and wiped it over Paul's face, whose eyes remained open even as the cloth passed over them. Watching. Watching Ritchie.  
Ritchie cleared his throat, rung the cloth out again, tried not to let himself get freaked out by Paul's demeanour. Just get on with the job at hand.  
"Let's wash your arm, eh? Got it all over you. Did you feel ill? Summat upset you?" Ritchie talked as he worked just to bring some sense of reality to the situation. He was conscious of Paul watching him, conscious of John trying to strip the bed. Paul sat in the middle of the chaos he'd created, unmoving, not responding.  
"He didn't say he felt ill" John puffed, pulling the sheet from under Paul's body "He was asleep when it happened. He's not with it, is he?"  
Ritchie glanced up. Those eyes were still fixed on him. How did Paul manage to do that? Not blink? It was ... weird. Scary.  
"No, don't think he is."  
"Probably a fucking nightmare again. Keeps happening. Not as much, but .. fucking sheet ... lift your backside Paul, I can't move it .."  
Ritchie took Paul's other arm and ran the cloth over it. The lad offered no resistance. It was his right hand. Those scars. Silver threads on the inner wrist. Ritchie blinked, and carefully washed over them.  
"Best put the pillows in the washer. They'll need it. Or I'll pick some new ones up today. Is he gonna be okay for work?"  
John stood up, clutching the soiled bed linen, and surveyed Paul, considering Ritchie's question.   
"Your guess is as good as mine, Ritch. Don't think he's fit for anything at the moment." John rolled the bed linen tighter. It was something to do. Something to keep him occupied. Some normality. "Appreciate this, Ritch. I interrupted your breakfast."  
Ritchie squatted back on his heels, surveying Paul intently, and gave a soft smile.  
"It's okay. I'm in plenty of time. I don't start till eight today."   
From his new position, Ritchie spotted some vomit on Paul's leg he'd missed in his cleaning up, and reached to run the flannel down Paul's calves.  
Paul hissed, like a cat, and drew his legs up, circling them with his arms.   
Ritchie started in surprise, and looked at John, who met his gaze with a frown.  
John chewed his lip. "Christ knows what's going through his head. Sorry Ritch."  
Ritchie dropped the flannel into the bowl. "S'okay. I've cleaned him as best I can but he'd be better for going through the shower. D'you want me to help you?"  
John switched his gaze to Paul. Everything about the young man's position was defensive. John wasn't sure if he wanted to approach at all at the moment ... it was like watching a cornered wild beast. He closed his eyes. He'd really hoped that Paul was improving ... well, he is improving .. he is, he told himself .. just .. just the odd set back. It's just a set back. It'll pass.  
"I think I'll make him a cup of tea and see if I can pull him round first" John sighed, opening his eyes.  
He could read only sympathy in Ritchie's sad blue eyes that were focused on him. Ritchie gave a nod. "Okay. I don't have to go out for at least an hour yet, so I can stick around."  
John nodded back. He was glad. Glad of the company. Glad of someone else being around who understood ... understood what it could be like .. who ... knew ...  
He switched his gaze to Paul, who was still curled up, eyes narrowed, watching Ritchie .. as if he might attack or something.  
John shivered. "I'll go make some tea. Can I make you one?"  
Ritchie clambered to his feet. "No, I'm good, ta. I'll just dispose of this" he indicated the now cooling water in the washing up bowl" and get the rest of me breakfast."

John didn't rush to make the tea. He found himself apprehensive, wondering what had happened. What was going, or had been going, through Paul's mind. He dallied ... whether or not deliberately he didn't want to know, till Ritchie's voice broke the spell.  
"You okay in there John?"  
John blinked. "Yeah. Yeah, fine. Just mashing the tea."   
He swiftly added a couple of spoons of sugar to Paul's and stirred, wincing at the fact it now looked a bit stewed ... and Paul hated stewed tea.  
Would he notice, though?  
In the state he was in?  
John threw a reassuring smile at Ritchie as he passed through the living room on his way upstairs.  
Everything's fine, it said. All's cool.  
Inwardly John's heart was hammering.  
It was as if Ritchie's voice spoke inside his head, reading those innermost thoughts. "D'you want me to come up with you?"  
John paused for a second and closed his eyes.  
Did he? Want help?  
This was his partner. His boyfriend.  
His fiance.   
His husband-to-be.  
He needed to be able to do this himself.  
He sounded far calmer than he felt.  
"Nah, I'll be fine, ta, Ritch."

John entered the room with a mug of tea in each hand to find Paul sitting in the exact same position, his arms curled around his legs which were drawn up to his chest. It was his defensive pose. His feeling threatened pose. John moved carefully, cautiously, placing the mugs down on the bedside table, his eyes never leaving Paul's figure.  
He let out a breath he wasn't aware he was holding.   
"Paul?"  
The lad never blinked. Those eyes were still wide, unseeing, fixated on the spot Ritchie had been in minutes before.  
John reached out and touched him. Touched one of the curled arms. Paul flinched as if hit, but his eyes still didn't register.  
His skin was icy cold.  
"Bloody hell, you're freezing. Look at you."  
John's fear had been replaced by concern as he reached down to the end of the bed and grabbed his dressing gown, wrapping it around the naked figure.  
"It might be middle of May nearly but it ain't that warm yet" John chided himself rather than Paul.  
It wasn't easy wrapping a dressing gown around someone sitting in such a position, but John did his best, a frown furrowing his brow.  
"Need to look after you ... you're such an idiot .. y'don't know how to look after y'self half the time, do you?"  
Paul slowly raised his eyes and met John's.   
John couldn't see any recognition in them.  
"I brought you some tea" he said softly. "M'sorry it's a bit stewed."  
Paul closed his eyes.  
For a moment John thought that was it ... he was going to do his usual Sleeping Beauty thing until the trauma had passed.  
But he didn't.  
One of Paul's fingers ... the index finger of his left hand .. twined itself in the material of the dressing gown, round and round, forming a long soft cuddly point, which Paul trailed up towards his face without opening his eyes. Then John could hear him sniffing. Smelling. Going all over the twined bit of material with the tip of his nose. Just as he'd done a few mornings ago over John's chest. After a length of time that could have been seconds, minutes or hours, Paul opened his eyes and looked at John.  
John gave a gentle smile, hoping.  
"Hiya."  
He saw Paul swallow, and wrinkle his nose at the vile taste in his mouth.  
"Hiya Johnny."  
"How y' feeling now?"  
Now???  
Now???  
Although Paul remained still his eyes darted round the room.  
Had something happened?  
And why did his mouth taste like a wastebin?  
John stepped in swiftly.  
"You threw up."  
Paul blinked, questioningly.  
"You were sick" John clarified.  
Paul frowned. He didn't remember ... oh! .. it was a flash .. the edge of his vision ... a dream escaping back into the dark realms of night ... even as he reached out for it with his mind it had gone.  
Gone.  
He sighed.  
"My mouth tastes fucking awful."  
John grinned and handed him the mug of tea. "Sorry it's a bit stewed."  
A slim arm emerged from the wrapping of the dressing gown and seized it gratefully. "Don't care. Anything's better than this. Ta."  
John was so relieved he could have got up and danced round the room. He cautioned himself to stay calm.  
"How y' feeling?"  
John could only see Paul's eyes over the rim of the mug, but he saw a tiny frown crease his forehead. Paul slurped down the last of the tea noisily, and unthinkingly wiped his mouth on the sleeve of John's dressing gown. "I'm okay ... I think. I don't remember. Being sick, that is."  
John made a mental note to wash his dressing gown too.  
"I think you were asleep."  
Paul's eyes widened. "Asleep? I was sick in my sleep?"  
"Uh huh. Were you .. er .. dreaming, at all?"  
Zzwooshh .. an interference.  
Like static.  
Paul frowned.  
"I .. I dunno .. I think .. "  
Jesus .. what was it? Just out of reach. Round the corner. Impossible to catch.  
He shivered and drew the dressing gown closer around himself.  
Hands. Arms. Laughter. He'd not been able to ...   
John saw him slide out of and back into focus. So swift if you'd blinked you would have missed it.  
He reached out and took the hand that was holding together the dressing gown.  
Paul's fingers curled around his, gripping tightly.  
John ran his thumb over the back of Paul's knuckles.  
"It's okay. You're okay. Just tell 'em all to fuck off."  
Paul shifted uncomfortably on the bed.  
He hated it when he couldn't recollect things.  
He hated it that John had to keep being strong for him.  
He wanted to be strong for John.  
It was John that had to attend the trial.  
He didn't need some wimp of a boyfriend who kept breaking down every few minutes.  
"I'm sorr...."  
He never got to say it. John had anticipated the words and swiftly placed his thumb over Paul's mouth.  
Rolling his eyes, he said briskly "Told you before. Not your fault. You don't have to apologise. Ever. Right?"  
Removing his thumb, John spoke softly. "Right?"  
Paul nodded.   
"Right" John stretched, rising to his feet, rubbing his hands purposefully. It was the best thing he knew how to do .. keep Paul moving. Don't let him think. Don't let him dwell. "You need a shower. It's only just after seven so there's plenty of time. You can borrow me dressing gown if you like but chuck it for the wash after, will you? I'm gonna put us some toast on. D'you want Weetabix or Shredded Wheat?"  
Paul blinked bemusedly at the pace life had suddenly accelerated to.  
"I .. I, er ..."  
"Good ... 'cos we've run out of the other anyway. See you down in five, yeah?"  
Paul nodded. He wasn't sure what he was agreeing to.  
Dreaming? A nightmare?  
Something about ... about ...  
"Paul?"  
John's voice pulled him back.  
There was a smile on his lips but his eyes were serious.  
"Down in five, love, we have work to get to."

***************************************************

"It says showery."  
"Yeah, well, that's the Liverpool Echo for you."  
"It is the local paper, John."  
"The B.B.C. forecast is more accurate."  
"I think the Met Office one is, personally. Go on line and have a look." Ritchie put in his twopennorth.  
"But the Liverpool Echo will be specific to this area. To us."  
"That's a very long word, Paul."  
"What is?"  
"Specific."  
"Oh. Right. Well, so is pertinent and it's also pertinent to our area."  
"Now you're just showing off."  
"Personally I don't care what it does. I just want the whole thing over and done with now."  
John and Paul looked at Ritchie aghast.  
"Ritch!"  
"Ritchie! How can you say that?"  
"Well, for a start off I'm fed up of hearing you two argue over the weather."  
They both closed their mouths guiltily.  
"And the other is ... whatever the weather it's happening on Saturday. So, rain or shine, it's immaterial."  
The wedding.  
It would be a lie to say that Ritchie wasn't getting a few jitters.  
Judging by how he'd snapped at them both ... patient, dependable Ritchie who never raised his voice ... who never ...  
"I might take an umbrella." Paul never knew when to shut up.  
"Take as many fucking umbrellas as you want but just shut up. I don't care what you do." Ritchie flung down the evening paper and stormed out of the room.  
Paul's face flushed a brilliant red.  
John rolled his eyes.  
"I think he has pre-wedding nerves."  
Paul was chewing his lip madly. In fact, John was surprised he hadn't managed to digest at least a few parts of his body yet the rate he went on.  
"I was just trying to help."  
John raised his eyebrows and chuckled.  
"Come here, y' daft lad. I know you were. He knows you were too. Just allow him the odd strop at the moment."  
He pulled Paul into his arms and after a moments hesitation the dark head nestled on his shoulder, voice muffled.  
"When we get married you won't strop will you?"  
John gave him a squeeze.  
"I do most solemnly declare, before God and Kingdom, that I will not. Might throw a wobbler, though. How's that?"  
He could feel Paul's chuckles moist against his shoulder.

The weather was fine.  
In fact, for mid May, it was glorious.  
There was a dive for the bathroom, all three lads trying to get showered at the same time.  
"Paul, let Ritchie go first, it's his day."  
Ritchie was looking rather white.  
"You okay, old son?" John asked, giving his arm a gentle squeeze.  
Ritchie summoned up a sickly smile.   
The doorbell rang.   
Paul jumped nervously. "Who could this be? It's not time yet."  
John shook his head in amusement. Was he the only calm one here?  
"Er ... George? Possibly? You know .. the best man?"  
Paul squeaked in delight and pelted down the hallway.  
"Paul, you .. have .. no ... " John's voice petered out ... " clothes on," he finished to himself.  
Sometimes Paul's lack of modesty or indifference to clothing entertained John enormously, although a tiny part of him, a little, wee, whiny part that he tried not to listen to tried to tell him it was because of the lifestyle Paul had led before. Maybe, he growled at it. Now go away.  
Paul came back to the kitchen, blissfully naked, chattering ten to the dozen to George, who seemed completely unperturbed at having been greeted by a naked McCartney.  
He was clad in baggy linen trousers and his long hair, currently a brilliant red and in dread locks, was tied back in a heavy pony tail, his lips stretched wide in a grin.  
"Morning John, Ritchie. All well?"  
Paul halted his non-stop dribble, surprised. He'd forgotten John and Ritchie were here in his excitement at getting his oldest friend back.  
He flashed them a smile, as if to convince them that he was okay, he was across the situation, then possessively took hold of George's arm and steered him into the living room. Ritchie and John exchanged an amused grin.  
"Er ... Paul .. are you getting dressed today or what?"  
Paul rolled his eyes at John. "No, I'm going like this. Yeah, course I am. I just wanted to catch up with George."  
"Well, why don't you catch up, as it were, while you get dressed, seeing as George has to as well. "  
Oh! What a novel idea.   
Paul's lips curved in a delightful smile, and both Ritchie and John found themselves responding.  
"I didn't think of that. Come on ... " Paul tugged demandingly at George's arm " come to our bedroom."

From absolute chaos suddenly came perfection.  
Looking absolutely adorable, face slightly pink from effort and exertion and embarrassment, Ritchie was standing in the parlour, watching for the taxi that would get him and his mates to the church.  
John, resilient auburn hair determinedly combed down with water, glasses polished to perfection, looked incredibly smart in a dark morning suit with a pale blue waistcoat. He tugged uncomfortably at the sleeves of his white shirt, and wiped an imaginary speck of dirt off his highly polished black shoes. He felt totally out of character in such clothing, but regarded it as a practice run for when he married Paul. After all, that lad wouldn't settle for anything less than formal attire.  
Speaking of which ...  
John's eyes were continually drawn to the young man in question.  
He looked stunning, wearing the morning suit as if he'd been born to swan around in clothes like that every day of his life. Dark hair neatly combed. Not a hair out of place.  
His waistcoat was a pale pink which beautifully offset his Black Irish colouring. John's heart did a little flip.  
" .... should be, don't you think?"  
John blinked, aware of Ritchie at the side of him.  
"Er .. sorry?" He turned to meet Ritchie's knowing smile.  
"He's a bloody picture, isn't he?" Ritchie said softly.  
John blushed.  
"I said ,,, the taxi should be here soon, don't you think?"  
George glanced up, his smile brighter than any clothing. "I reckon, otherwise we'll be getting a bus. Unless anyone has a car we can borrow."  
"And unless anyone of us suddenly learns to drive." John added.  
"I can drive."  
Paul's words dropped softly into the conversation, which immediately halted.  
They all looked at him.  
"You .. you can .. drive?" John stuttered. He was ... astounded.  
Judging by the silence, so were Ritchie and George.  
Finding himself the centre of attention, Paul coloured.  
"Yeah .. I, er, I passed my test when I was just turned eighteen."  
Eighteen. With Luke.  
As if Paul had heard John's thoughts out loud he turned to him, and gave an apologetic shrug. "Luke paid for me to learn. It made it easier for me to .. to .. " they all sensed Paul gather himself together " .. to do the drops. I could get round further and quicker." He turned away, shrugged again. "Sorry." It was a whisper.  
John jerked to. "What d'you mean, sorry. Hey, might be useful one day. Some day."  
"Yeah, like today" George laughed, easing the situation "if the taxi doesn't turn up."  
But even as he spoke it arrived, and the four lads piled out, their spirits high, the sun shining, and headed out towards Speke and the rest of their day.

They arrived at the same time as the guy bringing the programmes and buttonholes for them. While George helped Ritchie fix his carnation, Paul thumbed through the wedding programme, checking the music that was being used, and started in surprise to see his name printed in the 'thank you's' at the end.  
"Look, John ... look" he hissed. John looked over his shoulder.  
"Yeah?"  
"My name's in the brochure. And your's, look ... the ushers. That's us." He gave a beaming smile.  
John was sorely tempted to ruffle Paul's hair, but thought better of it. He might well get his hand batted.  
"Yup. That's us. And there's George, look ... see? Best man ... George Harrison."  
A mixture of excitement and nerves were strumming up and down Paul's body, like a tense string. He breathed in deeply of the musty smell of the old church, noting the dust motes that danced in the myriad of colours that streamed through the stained glass windows.   
"I like it in here" he whispered, more or less to himself.  
John arched an eyebrow.   
Paul chewed his lip, feeling the need to quantify his statement. "I feel .. safe."  
"Oh, right, yeah." John was a bit mystified. Was it to do with Paul's Catholic upbringing? Personally, he didn't feel anything ... other than slightly too warm in all his gear.  
"There..." they turned as they heard George's satisfied exclamation. "That looks good. Jump up and down a bit an' make sure it doesn't come off."  
Grinning, Ritchie obliged, waving his arms like a madman. The buttonhole stayed firmly put.  
"As firmly fixed on as that ring will be soon, son" John deadpanned.  
George turned his attention to fixing his own buttonhole, and Paul and John went to investigate theirs.   
Footsteps on the old stone tiles made them all glance up.  
"Good morning, gentlemen. And a fine day for a wedding. And how is the groom?"  
The vicar appeared among them, smiling and beaming, rubbing his hands together in delight.  
Paul dodged behind John quickly, who tried to sidestep to prevent him from hiding, but like a shadow Paul anticipated his every move.  
The vicar's smile faltered slightly, but he plowed on determinedly.  
"Everything has arrived on time I see. Last week the brochures didn't arrive until the ceremony was halfway through."  
Paul peeped over John's shoulder, then ducked back quickly when the vicar caught his eye.  
"What did you do?" John asked politely while trying, with his left hand, to feel behind him in case he could grab hold of Paul.  
"Oh, we .. winged it .." the vicar smiled, curiously eyeing up the manoueveres that were going on.  
He remembered this happening previously.  
Yes ... he definitely remembered this happening.  
Politely he turned to the best man. "And of course you have the ring?"  
George nodded, patting his pockets.  
They were all trying to ignore the slight scuffle that was ensuing.  
"Paul!" John's voice hissed.  
"All safe in me pocket, sir" George replied, rather louder than he usually would.  
"Paul, stop it! Come on!"  
"Yes .. all ready!" Ritchie almost shouted, startling himself and the vicar.  
They maintained eye contact determinedly, staunchly refusing to acknowledge the sound of a scuffle.  
"So are we ..." John joined the circle victorious, grimly holding onto Paul's left wrist.  
The lad looked somewhat flustered and pink.  
The vicar took a deep breath and turned to them.  
"Ah, yes, the ushers. John and Paul, isn't it?"  
John nodded enthusiastically, refusing to give even an inch to the young man firmly adhered to his side.  
"Yes, I'm John, and this is Paul."  
Beetroot red, Paul tried to squirm behind John again.   
John's grip tightened.  
His grin became more of a grimace as he gripped even tighter to Paul's wrist ... bugger me if the guy wasn't trying to slip his hand through John's fingers so he could escape.  
Ritchie, George and the vicar resolutely ignored the kerfuffle.  
"Er .. so .. I'll leave you to .. er .. " the vicar's eyes slid sideways. What was going on?" ... er .. get ready, yes? See you in about half an hour. Oh, look .. your first guests."  
Nodding to them, the vicar swiftly departed, a hint of relief across his features.  
George's face lit up in a big smile as he saw his parents getting out of a taxi and he rushed out to greet them. Ritchie trailed behind him, a huge smile on his face.

Not letting go of Paul's wrist, John turned to face him.  
"What's with you?" he whispered fiercely.  
Paul blanched and tried to pull his wrist free of John's hold, but John simply tightened his fingers.  
He saw Paul blink, unsure, and swallow.  
"I ... I don't think I can do this, John."  
John relaxed his grip slightly but doggedly held on.  
"What d'you mean, y' can't do it. Y' can't let Ritchie down now. We've been through this before, Paul. I'm here, with you .. okay? I'm not going anywhere. I'm not gonna leave you, alright?"  
Paul didn't believe him. He could see it written plain as day all over the lad's face.  
John huffed a sigh, speaking quickly, aware of the fact George was approaching with his parents.  
"Look ... just tell me ... what the hell are you worrying about?"  
"Oh my goodness .. look at Paul." They both heard Louise's voice echo in the small church, and Paul's face flooded with colour again.  
He had to tell John .. and quickly. He stared into John's eyes .. it was important he understood.  
"That .. that I might see someone who knows me."  
John frowned ....  
......" ...I must go and talk to him ..."  
footsteps were coming their way   
" ... what d'you mean, knows you? Lots of people here .."  
John could see the rising panic ..   
"... no, John, not that kind .. I mean .. knows me .. y'know, as in ..."  
"Paul!" Louise's voice cut the sentence short.  
John automatically let go of Paul's hand as Louise gathered the young man into her arms, enveloping him in a tight hug.  
"Look at you!" She held him at arm's length, then tugged him back into a hug. "Aren't you a picture. Lovely to see you. And John ..." she relinquished Paul, turning to face the older man. "You should have come around again. It was so lovely to meet you. And isn't this wonderful ..." her outflung arms took in the church "... such a wonderful reason to be meeting up again."  
Her husband arrived silently at her side, nodding a smile to the two lads.   
He held out his hand to Paul. "Good to see you, lad."  
Paul shook the offered hand formally, and introduced John.  
"Yes, we've met .. before. When you came round after Christmas."  
Christmas? Before? Paul threw a panicked glance over to John.  
John offered a reassuring smile. "You fell asleep. I had to take you home in a taxi."  
John made light of it, but it was interesting that Paul obviously had no recollection.  
Which drew John's thoughts further along the road .. Paul's concern ... that he might meet someone who knew him ... John realised now what Paul had been on about. It was highly unlikely ... pretty much impossible ... but of course that would explain a lot of Paul's reluctance to mingle ... to go out and meet. No wonder he kept his circle of friends small. He glanced at his boyfriend who was holding on to a very patient if confused smile as Louise talked his ear off. Getting a taste of his own medicine there!  
"Er .. Louise .. sorry to butt in, but me an' Paul need to get a few things organised. Here, have a programme, then do you want to find yourself a seat? Anywhere on the right except for the first row."

"It won't happen, Paul."  
"It might. It could. It would just be .. so embarrassing."  
John caught hold of his hand, stroking the fingers.  
"Highly unlikely."  
Paul gave a twisted smile. "Not in my case."  
John shook his head gently.  
"I don't think so. Anyway, I'm here, with you. I'm not leaving your side, official. Think you can cope?"  
John was aware of George's eyes on them from a distance part way down the aisle.  
Paul hesitated, then gave a slight nod.  
John beamed. "Good lad. Come on, let's go and be ushers."

There was a rustle of material as everyone stood up and the sound of the organ pealed out joyfully.  
Everyone was seated where they should be.  
Everyone had programmes.  
Paul was at his side and had handled it well, even managing to exchange a few words with some of the guests.  
John was so proud of him.  
Now the sun was streaming through the windows and heads were turning to see the bride process down the aisle.  
But John only had eyes for Paul.  
And he was beginning to understand, now, that things that seemed so simple, so ordinary, so everyday life to him were actually big hurdles for Paul and took some getting over.  
And as the familiar words of the marriage ceremony began, John noticed that Paul was watching intently, occasionally mouthing the words along with the happy couple.  
A warm glow settled at the pit of John's stomach.  
He would find a church that would marry them.  
As soon as today was over, he would begin a search.  
Then Paul could say those words for real.


	42. Chapter 42

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Agh! Sorry guys ... again life has got in the way and I know it'll be a while before I pick the threads up to this, so I thought I'd publish now ... as far as I got ... hope you all enjoy and thanks for such lovely inspiring comments last time.

The air was heavy with the smell of May blossom, the heady perfume enhanced by the fact there had been a short but refreshing shower mid-way through the afternoon. Now in the early evening light guests were spilling out into the gardens of the church hall, their voices slightly louder, their laughter slightly shriller, as the champagne they had drunk to toast the happy couple had been followed by bevvies of beer and bottles of wine from the bar. Music from a stereo playing in the hall drifted across the air, vying with the sound of a tug making it's way up the Mersey and a low flying Easy Jet coming in to land at the nearby airport. 

John leaned back against the trunk of an old oak, letting out a breath, loosening off his tie. He figured most of the other guests had began to divest themselves of cumbersome clothes so he could too. He took another swig of his beer, relishing the taste as it went down. He was beginning to feel slightly tipsy .. well, maybe more than slightly. He was in that extremely relaxed stage of inebriation before headaches and queasy stomachs kick in. Squinting his eyes, he surveyed the group of older guests who had made an impromptu group of dancers near to the hall doors, better to hear the music. If he squinted really carefully he could just about make out Paul .. or at least a pale pink waistcoat .. dancing with .. hmm .. he narrowed his eyes even more .. now was that George's mum or Ritchie's mum? Either way, John consoled himself, it would be one or the other. They seemed to have shared Paul between them most of the evening. He fumbled in his pockets for a cigarette, then with a sigh remembered he didn't smoke any more. Maybe he ought to go and rescue his boyfriend? Then again ... he figured Paul was pretty safe with those two mums. He puffed out another little sigh and undid the top button of his shirt. He was amazed at himself having survived that long in formal attire. He ran his finger under his collar, relishing the feeling of fresh air around his neck. Another plane, coming in low over the tree tops, caught his eye. Ryan Air this time. He vaguely wondered where it had come from. Then his thoughts meandered onto the surprise news for Lottie and Ritchie that Lottie's parents had paid for them to have a week in Malaga as a surprise honeymoon .. which meant .. ta da! .. that he would have Paul and the house to himself. The fact it might all feel a bit overcrowded when Lottie and Ritchie arrived back he pushed out of his mind. Soon he and Paul would have Rob and Jacob's flat to live in, and now that Paul's sentence had been abruptly terminated it meant Rob and Jacob could bring their own plans forward, except for one thing ... they were determined to be around for the wedding. THE wedding. Definite article. John's pose against the tree began to slide somewhat. Maybe he had drunk too much. Wedding ... him .. hmmm .. Paul ... oh yes .. his insides squirmed delightfully at the thought of waking up to that face every day .. not that he hadn't been for pretty much a year of it anyway ,, but waking up to it knowing KNOWING that it belonged to him .. to John .. Johnny ...

"Johnny?"  
" ..? .."  
"John are you okay?"  
"..?.."  
"John? Johnny, you're drunk, aren't you?"  
Mmm .. yes, that face. THAT face. Wasn't he clever, conjuring him up like that.  
John reached out a tentative hand, not sure if it was heading in the right direction, but fortunately it collided with hair .. nice, soft hair. John twined his fingers in it.  
"PaulIloveyou.." he slurred delightfully, pulling the younger man closer.  
Jesus, these trousers he was wearing were tight.  
How had he not noticed before?  
Had he eaten a lot?  
Oh .. no .. wait ... wrong area.  
"Mmm, Paul ... want you ... now.."  
He heard a chuckle that made his knees go weak.  
"You ARE drunk, aren't you."  
No. He considered carefully, his thought processes slower than usual.  
No, that was definitely the wrong answer.  
"No, Paul .. well, maybe .. might be ..a bit ... want to fuck you, hard, now....mmph.."  
Fingers slapped themselves quickly over his mouth, and Paul's eyes suddenly looked ... serious.  
Why was he looking serious?  
"John, ssh, there's children around. Later. Okay?"  
Later?  
John moved his head to see these forementioned 'children' and the rest of his brain swung slowly behind.  
"Ugh. Fuck, me head."  
He heard another chuckle.  
That was more like it.   
He liked Paul to be happy.  
He wanted him to be happy.  
He insisted he was ...  
"I love you."  
"Yeah, I know. I love you too."  
John tangled his fingers tighter in that soft hair. He reckoned Paul didn't get it. Not really.  
"No. I love you, as in .. I really love you."  
He felt Paul lean in close to him, his breath gusting warm across his cheek."  
"I know. I really love you too, Johnny."  
A beatific smile spread over John's face as he slowly slithered down the trunk of the tree to land in a sitting position, his eyes falling closed.

Despite a thumping headache, when he opened his eyes, John couldn't help but stare deeply into the beautiful pair of eyes that were gazing back at him, concern and amusement mingled in their depths. A smile curved John's mouth. Green. No, brown. Uh huh ... definitely ... oh, green. And maybe some .. gold? Yeah. Green and brown and gold .. and ..   
John reached a hand out towards them and completely missed, his arm falling uselessly back down beside him.  
"Mmm ... love you..." he drawled. He wasn't sure if he'd said it out loud or spoken it in his head.  
An eyebrow arched quizzically.  
Maybe he had spoken out loud.  
He wanted to raise his arm again but it was an effort ... his arm was SO heavy ... he was SO tired ...  
and all the dwarves of Moria were hammering for mithril in his head.  
"Ugh .. me fucking head."  
He figured he must have said it out loud because he heard a chuckle. It was a chuckle that warmed the cockles of his heart.  
He was comfortable .. if you removed his head, that is. Lying on something soft and .. and ...  
a frown creased his features. Where was he?  
He tried to move his head to ascertain his present position but ... oh God ... maybe not ...  
"Where am I?"  
It was easier to ask.  
Ah ... now the eyes were brown .. oh, wait. They've gone green again.  
"Paul .. your eyes .. they keep ... doing things..."  
He had to tell him. Maybe he didn't know.  
This was fascinating.  
"At home."  
John frowned again at the sound of Paul's voice. At home? What did that have to do with his eyes???  
Oh ... yes ... the 'where am I' ...  
"Home?"  
John tried to sit up and felt a sudden wave of nausea sweep over him. He flopped back down, panting, waiting for the room to stop swimming.  
"Oh fuck."  
"Just lie still, John."  
Paul sounded very business like.  
He wasn't sure if he wanted him business like.  
He wanted him ... yeah ... just ... wanted him, actually.   
"The wedding?"  
"That was yesterday."  
John groaned. "What time is it?"  
"Ten past eleven in the morning."  
John contemplated Paul's reply.   
It took him a while to connect the threads and formulate his next question.  
"How did I get home?"  
He kept his eyes shut.  
He considered shutting his ears too, not sure if he wanted to know the answer.  
"In a taxi."  
Oh. Oh, that wasn't too bad.  
"How did I get up here?"  
"Me and George carried you."  
Now that would have been a sight to see ... two lightweights like George and Paul hefting Lennon up the stairs.  
"Wasn't that a bit ... difficult?"  
Paul chuckled again. "Awkward, but not difficult. George might look scrawny but he's pretty tough."  
Satisfied with the replies, John reached his hand vaguely in the direction of his boyfriend, one eye creaking open. He felt Paul grasp his fingers and give a squeeze.  
"Paul .. I think .. I think I'm gonna sleep a bit more. Till this headache goes."  
"Mmm .. good idea."  
"But, Paul ..." John paused. Now this was important. He didn't want Paul to lose sight of it. "I meant what I said, y'know, last night.."  
He could feel Paul's thumb stroking his fingers. He could go to sleep to that sensation.  
"I do really love you .. and, when I wake up, I really ... as in really .. want to fuck you."  
He was sure he could still hear Paul chuckling as he let sleep carry him away.

It was odd not having Ritchie in the house.  
The front parlour was neatly stacked with all the wedding presents they'd received.  
The two suitcases that had been hastily packed and sitting in the hall had gone.  
There was an air of emptiness ... of something ... or someone.... missing.  
Paul occasionally popped his head round the door, surveyed the wedding gifts, and chewed his finger thoughtfully.  
It didn't seem right that him and John were going to be there when Ritchie came back with his new bride.  
Not that Lottie hadn't stayed over lots of times. It was just that .. now ... this time ... she was coming back as the lady of the house. Ritchie's missus. Things would probably change. And Paul didn't know quite how he felt about it. Other than hesitant. Except he didn't feel he could tell John that. It wasn't concrete enough. John would expect a reason and he, Paul. couldn't give him one. Paul carefully closed the parlour door again, a tiny frown remaining on his brow. He should learn not to worry, he told himself. If John seemed okay with it all, well then .. he ought to as well. He sighed and went to clean the kitchen for the umpteenth time that day.

Odd, John mused, how the house seemed much more Ritchie's house without him in it.  
It was as if Ritchie's presence was round every corner, up every nook and cranny, from the tea towels they used to the pans in the cupboard and the soap in the bathroom.  
He was more here now he wasn't here ... if that made sense.  
John too was aware of a disturbance in the equilibrium.  
Not that he was telling Paul that.  
He could already sense his boyfriend was having a bit of a wobbler. Though the lad was desperately trying to hide the fact. So John didn't comment.  
But Paul was incessantly cleaning.  
He'd vacuum the parlour ... which, stacked with gifts, was unused anyway ... but then he'd vacuum it again.  
He'd have a cup of tea and immediately wash up.  
Then inspect the cup he'd washed for left over stains and wash it again.  
And dust. Then re-dust.  
John hid himself behind a book and tried to ignore these actions.  
If it helped Paul feel better then who was he to interfere?

The whole of the last couple of weeks had been taken up with the impending wedding.  
Every conversation.  
Every weather report.  
Every hint of illness/absence/potential strikes/wedding cakes/dietary requirements.  
Like a ten ton truck heading mercilessly to it's destination with no handbrake.  
And now that it was over, for those left behind, it was like a big flop.  
Flop. John couldn't describe it any other way.  
An unbelievably quiet without Ritchie around.  
Now who would have thought that, eh?  
It wasn't that Ritchie was noisy, no ... he was just .. busy.  
Cooking tea for them all which, despite John's protestations, he actually enjoyed doing.  
Said it was relaxing at the end of a working day.  
Or he'd be touching the house up. A bit of painting here, a bit of tightening screws there.  
A permanent business about the place.  
And now it had gone.  
Okay ... only for twelve days .. but gone, nonetheless.  
And his absence had left a gaping hole in John's and Paul's lives.

John chewed thoughtfully on the end of his pencil.  
He thought he'd do a sketch from memory of the happy couple on their day.  
A memento for them.  
But instead he was watching his restless boyfriend.  
If Paul polished the kitchen surface any more it would surely disappear.  
He opened his mouth to say so, then promptly shut it again.  
He didn't want it to appear as a criticism.

He needed to see Mimi.  
The thought came like a bolt from the blue.  
He needed some stability in his life.  
Someone that would tell him how things ought to be, even if he then completely disregarded the advice.  
He let his mind drift back to the time he'd gathered all his belongings together and left, a scowl on his face. He and Mimi had had a blazing row over his preferred lifestyle. She couldn't cope with the idea. She found it 'abhorrent'. That had been her word. 'Abhorrent'. He rolled it round his tongue. Such a Mimi word.  
But the years had mellowed the angry words, often spoken in haste.  
Mimi had always been a stickler for convention. Things in her world were either black or white, and she had never given him an inch. But underneath it all he'd known she loved him. 'Spare the rod and spoil the child' was her favourite saying, along with a few other proverbs like 'the early bird catches the worm'. He shook his head. She was a bugger. But he did love her, and he wanted her as part of his life. As part of his and Paul's life, 'cos he reckoned support from Paul's side was gonna be pretty thin on the ground. And they might need some support. Heck, he might need some support.

His eyes drifted back to Paul who had moved on to cleaning the oven. Why John had no idea, 'cos they'd not used it. Without Ritchie meals had been simple beans on toast most nights, as they couldn't be arsed to do anything else.  
"What you up to, babe?" John called.  
Paul stopped his manic cleaning for a moment, a vague expression crossing his face. Was this something he shouldn't be doing? Ritchie's last words to him, apart from 'see you in a week' had been 'keep the kitchen clean for me Paul'. Okay, so it had been said with a teasing smile, but that fact had gone over Paul's head as he took the instruction seriously. And why was John asking? Surely it was pretty obvious what he was doing?  
Paul stuck his head back in the oven and continued scouring, his reply muffled. "Just cleaning the oven."  
John was sorely tempted to ask him why as it was unused, but gave a little shrug. If it kept him out of mischief ....  
"Fancy going to see Mimi on Sunday if she's in?"   
Paul jerked his head up suddenly, hitting it on the oven door. "What?! Ow! Fuck!"  
He emerged, rubbing his crown, looking rather wide eyed. "W .. why?"  
Ouch. It had really hurt. He was bound to get a lump there.  
"Well ... involve her in our wedding plans?" suggested John, hiding a smile at Paul's pained expression.  
Paul wasn't sure he wanted to involve her in anything. She was scary. Other than a little bit of him acknowledged the fact that she was part of John, and therefore she was important. As in capital letters important. And not to be dissed.   
Oh yes, he definitely had a lump coming. He could feel it.  
"Er .. we .. don't have any plans yet to involve her in."  
He loved John. He would move heaven and earth to oblige him.  
But somehow things seemed to happen when they were at Mimi's.  
He couldn't quite recall what as his mind tended to shut out certain memories.  
But that in itself wasn't a good sign.  
John placed the pencil he'd been chewing down on the arm of the chair, and leaned back, crossing one leg over the other, a smug smile on his face.  
"Well, maybe we do, Paulie."  
Paul's eyebrows arched as he continued to rub his head.  
"Y'see, I've not been inactive these last few days. I've been doing some research on which churches will marry us, and it turns out the U.R.C. are quite happy to do same sex marriage. In fact, if I remember correctly, they were the first church to agree to it. So ... " he glanced carefully at Paul who was standing stock still, a somewhat shocked expression on his face ... although maybe, John thought, that was just the knock he'd received on his head.  
"U.R.C.?" Paul murmured.  
"It stands for United Reformed Church" John's reply was short. He'd been interrupted as he was getting into full flow.  
"So .. now ... where was I? Oh, yes ... there are a couple that might be suitable. One is on Mather Avenue .." he dropped the address casually, watching for Paul's reaction from under his lashes. Sure enough, he got one. Paul's eyes widened, a hint of alarm in their depths. John moved swiftly on. "The other, St. James, is not far from Mimi's in Woolton. I thought you might like that one ... it's quite a traditional red brick building .. looks nice. I think we should go and have a look at them both, see which you ..."  
"Not Mather Avenue, John" Paul cut in like a knife.  
John glanced up at him. "Any reason?"  
Paul squirmed, and returned to rubbing his head. "I don't .. I just .. no, I think .. I .. "  
John tapped his fingers on his knee, wondering where this was going.  
Paul subsided swiftly. "Ijustdon'twanna.."  
"Any reason?" John was pushing. He knew he was, but sometimes he had to get this kid to talk.  
Colour flooded Paul's face, and his middle finger determinedly inserted itself into his mouth and stayed there. He gave a helpless shrug.  
It was no good. John couldn't do it.  
"Too near your family?" John asked softly.  
Paul mumbled something from behind his finger that was incomprehensible.  
"Pardon?"  
Paul removed his finger slightly, enough for the words to escape, then chewed it back in again.  
It had sounded like 'I don't have a family.'  
John frowned. "What d'you mean, you don't have a family? I know your dad lives near there. And your brother ... what's his name ... Mike?"   
Paul had switched from finger to thumb. It was impossible to hold a discussion with that in his mouth. As far as he was concerned, anyway. But John was persistent.  
"Don't you want to have them at the wedding?"  
Paul shook his head.  
"Or maybe even tell them you're getting married. I mean, we told Mimi, and she came round to the idea." He looked closely at his boyfriend and lowered his voice. "Don't you think you ought to maybe give them a chance?"  
Paul's head shake was so violent John thought maybe he really had damaged his head hitting it on the oven door.  
He kept his voice low. "When's the last time you saw your dad, Paul?"  
Paul froze, like a rabbit in headlights.  
You've gone too far, John cautioned himself.  
He eased off the chair and crossed over to where Paul stood in the kitchen doorway.  
He saw Paul blink ... once ... then the eyes stayed startlingly open.  
"Hey, hey, it's okay .. " John caught his wrist and tugged the thumb from his mouth "I just don't want you regretting anything. Y'know .. like .. wishing we'd told 'em. If you don't want to, it's okay. Up to you love."  
"I don't want to." Well, at least it was a reply, John consoled himself, even if as a whisper.  
John ran his other hand over the top of Paul's head and saw him flinch. He checked again, carefully. Yup, a lump. Definitely a lump.  
"Does it hurt?"  
Paul shook his head.  
Maybe it did, a bit, but he was afraid of the conversation going in directions he couldn't control. He could feel his heart rate accelerating as happened when he felt things spiralling.  
"When did you last see your dad, Paul?" John tried again. 

Everything had been dumped outside the red front door.  
Everything.  
Everything he owned.  
And that hadn't been much.  
Neighbours watching, net curtains twitching, as his father told him in no uncertain terms what he thought of his eldest.  
He'd gathered together his possessions, helped by Luke.  
His fingers trembling as he tried to piece together his birth certificate which had been torn in two.  
Not a son of mine.  
Deviant.

The finger of the hand not held by John made it's way into his mouth and his head collapsed on John's shoulder. He was mumbling something. John couldn't even begin to guess what.  
John sighed, and ran his fingers over the dark hair.  
"It's just .. people'll ask, y'know ... about your family. Mimi ..." John shied from saying it, but it would happen. Undoubtedly." .. Mimi'll ask. She's bound to. We ... we need a plan in place. If you don't want them, that is ..." he felt Paul burrow further onto his shoulder. "S'okay. Honestly, Paul ... s'okay. It don't matter to me. Just ... didn't want you wishing further along the road you'd asked them. Or at least asked your dad."  
He released Paul's hand and slid his arms around his waist instead, tugging him tight.  
"I love you, you know that, don't you?"  
An infinitesimal nod.  
Well ... that was one person less on the guest list then.

**********************************************************

Paul had the jitters.  
Standing next to John he was jiggling, tiny, pattery steps, on his heels, on his toes.  
It was beginning to feel like a recurring nightmare.  
Well, maybe he shouldn't refer to it as a nightmare.  
Standing in front of Mimi's house. Waiting for the door ... THAT porch door ... to be opened.  
So you could see her coming twice over.  
Once through the front door, and then ... ba boom! ... the porch.  
A double nightmare.  
Paul tried to think about other things to distract his mind.  
Ritchie would be coming back on Wednesday.  
That would be nice.  
Other than he would have Lottie too.  
Oh .. yes .. he liked Lottie. But .. it meant .. the dynamic of the house would change and maybe he'd be in the way.  
His tummy did a gambol.  
He pinched John's arm.  
"John" he hissed.  
John, somewhat amused by Paul's impromptu dance, turned to his fiance. "Mmm?"  
"I ... I want ... "  
John arched an eyebrow questioningly.  
"I ... I need ..." Paul's jiggles became more obvious.

The door was flung open.  
"John. How lovely. And Paul ... " Mimi plastered on a smile.  
She was never sure how this lad would react. "How nice to see you. How are you?"  
Paul turned to John, a plea in his eyes.  
"What's the matter?" John enquired cautiously.  
"I .. I need ... I .. it was ... it's the tea ... I shouldn't have ... I'm sorry ... "  
Mimi frowned.  
John frowned.  
They hadn't yet made it in through the porch.  
Paul blushed a violent red.  
This was urgent.  
"I need the toilet. Please" he added as an afterthought.

After such an embarrassing start to the visit Paul sat still as a statue, mouth tightly buttoned.  
Things always went wrong here. He was fairly sure Mimi had him down as a nutcase.  
How was he to know that the three cups .. or was it four? ... he'd drunk while meeting with the minister of St. James' Church would go straight through him.  
It was a nice church, though.  
Paul's thoughts drifted back.  
It was full of yellow flowers and smelt of furniture polish and books. A comforting smell.  
" ... in June, isn't it, love."  
" ..."  
"Paul?"  
Paul came to with a start, visions of flowers vanishing in a haze.  
He met John's eyes.  
Had he been asked something?  
And ... Mimi .. was ... waiting for a reply.  
Oh.  
He offered a smile which came out rather sickly.  
And obviously did not pass muster.  
He swallowed, his adam's apple bobbing.  
John had to rescue him, or this conversation was going nowhere.  
"Just saying to Mimi, it's your birthday in June."  
Paul gathered his swirling thoughts. Come back flowers and polish and hymn books and ...  
He nodded. "Yes. In June."  
He heaved a sigh that could have been heard the other side of the Mersey.  
He reckoned he'd got away with that one. After all, he'd simply repeated John's words. So there could be nothing to pin him down with there.  
John looked cautiously at him, like he was a bomb that might explode any moment.  
Mimi sat at a distance and simply observed.   
If it hadn't been rude to do so she would quite like to have made notes.   
Just so she could refer to them later and maybe reach a decision of some kind.  
The air was heavy with unspoken words.  
Mimi felt bound to say something to ease it all.  
"So ... St. James then. Lovely looking church. Of course, I've never been inside. It's not C of E, and, of course, I am an Anglican."  
Paul suddenly perked up.  
"Oh, that's okay" he said blithely "I'm catholic."

"John, catholic?"  
He was in the kitchen with his aunt, the noise of a boiling kettle fortunately stifling the sound of their conversation.  
"Could be worse, Mimi. He could be Rastafarian" John tried to lighten the atmosphere.  
"But .. a .. catholic?"  
"Come on, Mimi, we're past the burning at stakes bit now. And it's not his fault he's catholic. I mean, that's to do with his mum and dad, innit, and his mum was Irish, so ..."  
Mimi blanched. "Irish catholic?"  
John swore under his breath. "Fuckin' hell, y' don't make it easy, do y'?"  
Mimi icily poured the boiling water into the teapot.  
It was a wonder, John thought, that it didn't freeze.  
"And what do his parent's think about all this?"  
Ah. Bound to happen. John fiddled with a teaspoon, debating. How much did he tell without treading on Paul's personal ground?  
"His mum died years ago."  
Mimi's expression faltered. "Oh. Oh, I'm sorry, John."  
John shrugged.   
"And he hasn't seen his dad for years."  
The kettle was replaced carefully as Mimi digested this information.  
"So ... no one attending from Paul's side then?" She asked carefully. Not wanting to assume.  
John nodded. "No family from Paul's side. He does, however, have a close friend called George, and George's mum was like a mother to him. We'll definitely be having them."  
Mimi gathered her scattered wits around her.  
It was important to stay on top.  
And be compassionate.  
And sensible.  
She shoved the knitted cosy on to the pot.  
"We need a guest list, John."  
John smiled.  
This was the aunt he was used to.


	43. Chapter 43

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So one wedding over and another on the horizon. Enjoying the comments as always.

Paul carefully prodded a potato with the sharp end of the knife, testing it's consistency, a frown of concentration on his face, tip of tongue sticking out. John watched him out of the corner of his eye, a touch of amusement flickering around his lips. The kitchen smelt deliciously of steak pie cooking and was filled with curls of steam from the currently simmering potatoes that Paul was hovering over with the expectancy of an egg about to hatch.

Ritchie and Lottie were due back from their honeymoon.  
Their plane would have touched down at Liverpool Airport fifty minutes ago.  
Allowing for the odd hold-up waiting for bags and traffic around the airport, they should be home very, very soon.  
And Paul had cooked them a welcome home meal.  
Every now and then Paul broke into a cold sweat at the thought that he'd had the audacity to do this.  
Every now and then he was on the point of hurling everything into the sink and declaring he couldn't do it.  
Every now and then there was an over-riding impulse to hand the whole thing over to John.  
And let him do it.

John was watching him.   
Paul knew he was.  
In fact he was sure he detected a tiny smirk hovering around John's mouth.  
That just made Paul all the more determined.  
He would prove to John that he could cook ... well, sort of.

He opened the kitchen window wider, watching billows of steam escape through the vent.  
It was a hot day. Very hot for late May.   
A sunny Saturday.  
The kids would be in Calderstones Park now, dipping their feet in the lake. A breeze blowing.  
A glazed look crossed Paul's eyes.  
Maybe he should just have gone to the chippy.

There was a hissing sound as the saucepan containing the peas and carrots began to boil over.  
Coming back to earth quickly Paul lowered the heat, burning his finger slightly on the edge of the pan.  
"Fuck!" he muttered under his breath, blowing on the tender digit.  
John looked across the top of his book into the kitchen.  
"You okay there babe?" he enquired sagely.  
Startled, Paul glanced over at him, his expression a mixture of defiance and determination that John found extraordinarily appealing.  
"I'm fine, thank you" Paul replied stiffly.  
John gave an infinitesimal shrug that was not lost on Paul and returned to his book.

Paul was beginning to wonder what mad idea had possessed him to do this.  
He was not a cook.  
John was far better than him.  
Ritchie was superb.  
He'd really missed Ritchie's cooking while he'd been on honeymoon.  
He and John had lived on pizza, beans on toast and ... well ... that was it, really.  
And he craved some of Ritchie's sausage and mash. Really craved it. Could taste it, covered in brown sauce and the sausages cooked just so, and ...  
He sighed.  
Would he ever get that meal cooked for him again? After all, Lottie would probably take over that position as cook of the house, and why would she want to cook for two lodgers as well as herself and her husband at the end of a working day?  
Would she even want them here?  
Would she even want him, Paul, here?  
After all, he wasn't much use.  
Unless you wanted to be serenaded while you worked.  
He heaved an even bigger sigh and went to lean his chin on his hand, but his elbow slipped off the kitchen counter and instead he clunked his chin on the edge as he slipped.  
John glanced up at the noise, but Paul recovered quickly, a flush of colour flooding his face.

"How's it going in the gallery?" John asked amiably.  
Paul's eyes flickered, surveying John from under his lashes.  
Was John teasing him?  
After all, he'd already made a comment about the fact that steak pie, mashed potato, carrots and peas was maybe a somewhat heavy meal for a warm day.  
Okay .. so he'd retracted the comment quickly at the look of alarm that spread across Paul's face.  
But he'd said it, all the same.  
Paul began to chew his lip.  
Maybe it wasn't suitable.  
Maybe he should have done something else.  
Yes, like the chippy.  
Or a pizza takeaway.  
Or just ... not ... done anything.  
But he knew this was Ritchie's favourite meal.  
Just as Ritchie knew sausage and mash was his.  
With a beer.  
Mmm ... a nice cold Peroni chilling in the fridge.  
Paul could imagine it going down, cooling his hot throat.

And then ... then ... the potatoes boiled over and the alarm on the cooker pinged to say the pie was cooked and the sound of the front door being opened and ...  
Paul pulled the pan off the heat quickly and grabbed for the nearest tea towel, pulling a drinking glass onto the floor at the same time which shattered into a million pieces, sounding far worse than it was ....  
and with a quizzical smile, Ritchie was standing there, looking ... tanned ... oh my God ... Paul's mouth dropped open in surprise. His eyes looked SO blue, and .. and ... he was smiling and frowning at the same time ...  
"Y'okay, Paul? Just destroying me kitchen, eh?"  
"I .. I .. er ..." the tea towel dropped idly from Paul's fingers to join the broken glass on the floor " ... you ... you're different!"  
It was all he could think to say, staring in awe at Ritchie's visage.  
Ritchie chuckled, and Lottie peeped over his shoulder.  
Wow .. she was .. too ... different, that is.  
And she was smiling at him. A warm understanding smile.  
"John says you've cooked a welcome meal for us? That's amazing, Paul ... just what we need."  
Ritchie blinked. Gosh, his new wife was faster on the uptake with Paul around than he was.  
"Ey, mate ... fantastic. Smells ..." Ritchie stuck his nose in the air, sniffing, playing along as Paul began to squirm and colour "... like my favourite." He cast a speculative glance around, not wanting to get this wrong. "It wouldn't happen to be pie, potatoes, carrots and peas, would it?"  
Paul, whose eyes had never left Ritchie's face, so enamoured he was with this new vision, nodded.  
He stooped down and retrieved the tea towel from among the broken glass.  
"Sorry, I .. it was ..." he chewed his lip, then added "it's ready. And there's a beer in the fridge."  
Ritchie turned to Lottie. "We should do this more often. Go away, that is, if we come home to this."

Paul felt a quiet satisfaction watching everyone tuck in.  
He'd done this. He'd cooked it all on his own. No help from John.  
He was so busy watching them he almost forgot to eat his own.  
The drone of conversation passed over his head.  
Ritchie and Lottie were telling John all about their honeymoon and Spain and things that they'd seen and done.  
Well, they weren't just telling John. They were talking to Paul as well, but both Lottie and Ritchie ... and John too, for that matter ... were aware that nothing was going into Paul's head. All the lad's effort had gone in to producing a meal and that left him too mentally exhausted to take part in any conversation ... yet.  
Best hear Ritchie and Lottie's news first, John reckoned, before Paul recovered.

"So, how's the planning going for your wedding then?" Ritchie asked, half jokingly, not expecting anything would have happened.  
From the corner of his eye he saw Paul give a little jerk.  
John beamed and rubbed his hands together. "We have a church" he announced gleefully.  
"Wow!" "Really? Tell more."  
John proceeded to tell them all about St. James in Woolton and how they'd been to meet the minister, and how it wasn't too far from Mimi's ... near enough to walk to.  
Lottie leaned forward urgently. "I want to make it clear, John, that you and Paul can stay here for as long as you like. Don't feel you've got to rush anything. Nothing will change as far as I'm concerned."  
John had known that, but it was good to hear it from Lottie herself, and good for Paul to hear it too. John knew the younger man had been worrying.  
"Thanks, Lottie, but I don't reckon we'll be long in tying the knot. No reason to be. Jacob and Rob are ready to go whenever we're ready to take over. They won't go till we're married 'cos they want to be here for it, but once it's happened they'll be off."  
Ritchie glanced carefully at a very silent Paul whose dinner was cooling. Had he forgotten the tray sitting on his lap?  
"Two marriages in a short time, eh?"  
Feeling Ritchie's eyes on him, Paul gave a polite smile.  
He wasn't quite with it at the moment. Things were moving a bit faster than he could keep up with.  
He felt the need to respond, though. As if people were waiting for him to. He searched his mind for a quick reply.  
"Er, yeah, tea towels" he said.  
He felt John glance at him curiously.  
And Lottie and Ritchie at each other.  
His finger slipped into his mouth.  
What had he just said?  
With a gentle smile John rescued the situation.  
"Yeah, we need a few things like tea towels first" he supplied, as if Paul's sentence had been perfectly normal.  
Paul heaved an enormous sigh and began eating his meal.  
An overwhelming surge of love for this unpredictable boyfriend of his welled up in John.  
Life was never gonna be boring, that was for sure.

A date.  
That was preoccupying John.  
What date to go for?  
The minister was very easy going.   
"Any day, pretty much" he'd said "I'm away for a couple of weeks end of August but if you particularly wanted it then I could get a stand-in."  
"Oh, we won't be that late getting married" John had replied, and then coloured at the way that sounded.  
As if he couldn't wait to get Paul officially into bed.  
He tried to recover himself. "What I mean is .. that is .. we don't need to wait .. I mean ... we're taking over a business, with a flat .. er ... we can ... well, like, next week, really, if we wanted ..."  
The minister looked alarmed at the thought of such a sudden marriage.  
Paul just stood there calmly, eyes distant, blissfully unaware of the hole his fiance had dug himself into.  
"Yes, well ... it's a big commitment. Take your time, y'know" the minister had advised.

Paul would be twenty three on the eighteenth of next month.  
John nibbled his thumb nail thoughtfully.  
That was ... pretty young to be getting married, actually.  
And he was only twenty-four. Wouldn't be twenty-five till October.  
A few people had pointed out to him there lack of maturity chronologically for such a big step.  
John gave a shrug. Did it really matter?  
He could wait till Paul was thirty-three but he'd still want to marry him so why not now?  
There were a few issues upcoming though yet.  
Some big, some small.  
Paul had his final hospital appointment in a few days at the beginning of June.  
There was no doubt that he'd be fully discharged. He was the picture of health.  
Well ... physically, anyway.  
John was only too well aware that there were probably still a few mental wobbles, but hopefully they were getting less.  
He hadn't had a petit mal or any kind of lapse for weeks now.  
And he was appearing more confident.  
As long as he was in a small group and knew people.  
So ...  
... a date.  
The court case still hovered.  
Pushed to the back of John's mind, but there all the same.  
Sean ... who seemed to have taken a liking to Paul ... was keeping him as updated as possible.  
Investigations still ongoing.  
No plans for the case to resume.  
Mmm ... that notebook.  
Those names.  
Fuck!

John glanced up to watch Paul neatly folding their freshly washed clothes and putting them away.  
He knew that Sean and Tom and the inspector over the case were hoping against hope that Paul might, at some point, talk.  
John was fairly sure he wouldn't.  
Bloody hell ... the kid couldn't remember half that had gone on anyway.  
And it would just be too .. too ... upsetting.  
John could hear Paul humming under his breath. He sounded happy. John smiled. Yeah, Paul probably was content.  
Ritchie and Lottie were back and everything was on an even keel.  
Paul's teaching practice was going well. Incredibly well, actually. Without the restrictions a tag or curfew placed on him he'd been able to extend his working hours a little.  
Just a little ... not too much. John had put his foot down there. He was aware of the fact Paul could tire quite easily and didn't want an exhausted boyfriend. After all, money wasn't everything. Maybe, when they lived over the shop, an extra hour wouldn't have the same impact it had now when they had to travel home by bus as well.  
So ...  
... a date.

Rob and Jacob were geared up ready to go. There were packing cases strewn through the flat that, to Jacob's annoyance, Rob kept delving into because he couldn't recall what he'd put in it and what he hadn't.  
Jacob handed John a cup of coffee with a "..for fucksake just hurry up and get married will you so I can shift this lot before he unpacks the whole thing again."  
John's eyes flickered back over to Paul who was now sitting cross-legged on their bedroom floor carefully folding and placing with care each pair of pants and socks.  
That was the drawer with the notebook in.  
Well, it had been. Possibly still was.  
So ...  
.... a date.

Mimi would need forewarning so she could plan it to her heart's content.  
Paul and John had called by the other evening after work, having done a detour home.  
John hadn't been in the mood to talk about weddings. He just wanted to get back and have a beer and some grub.  
But Mimi was in sparkling form. She'd been ... planning.   
Gathering ideas.  
"I thought" she said, as she'd ... carefully ... passed Paul a cup of tea " that we could have a marquee in the garden and have bunting up and serve champagne and strawberries."  
John had gone to make some cutting remark about beer and chips being more suitable, then he'd caught sight of Paul's face. He'd looked ecstatic.  
"That sounds awesome" he'd breathed, dark eyes misty.  
Mimi latched on to him straightaway. A comrade here.  
"There could be canapes and fruit salads ..."  
"Fucking hell.." John muttered under his breath.  
Mimi pointedly ignored him.  
"And dainty cakes with .."  
".. with frosting on ..." Paul had supplied.  
John groaned and sank his head into his hands.

So ...  
... a date.

Did it really matter?  
After all, it wasn't going to take them long to organise.  
He could take a pin and stick it in the calendar and really any Saturday would do.  
They only needed to hire morning suits (again!) ...  
and buy ... rings.  
Oh, yes. Don't forget the rings.  
He watched Paul's fingers for a moment as they folded a vest.  
Long, thin ... wonder what size he was?  
Well, he wouldn't know, would he?  
It wasn't the kind of thing you went round doing.  
"What size fingers are you, dear?"  
I mean, guys just didn't do that.  
Maybe girls didn't either.  
He'd just have to drag Paul to a shop and ...  
...hang on ...  
Ritchie had bought Lottie's ring without taking her.  
How had he done that?  
Mental note to Lennon .. ask Ritch.

Now ... that notebook.  
Those names.  
He'd been nudged a few times over it but hadn't found the right opportunity to .. look? ... ask?  
John shoved the thought out of the way.  
Too much going on at the moment.  
He glanced up ... Paul was watching him.  
"Miles away there, Johnny. Fancy a cuppa?"  
"You offering?"  
"Uh huh."  
"Yeah, okay then. And a couple of chocolate digestives."  
"Give him an inch and he'll take a yard" Paul muttered as he clambered to his feet, dusting imaginary lint off his black jeans.  
John grinned broadly.

Once Paul left the room he moved swiftly.  
He didn't stop to think ... to analyse ...  
It was there, under Paul's neat pile of socks.  
As John yanked it quickly out it fell open onto one of the last pages.  
John halted, the little book in his hand ... oh! ... OH!  
Paul had been practising. His signature.  
Two pages full of neat handwriting of varying sizes and styles ... Paul Lennon.  
Any further thoughts of looking at the book dwindled rapidly as John held the little notebook in his hands.  
He sniffled, suddenly overcome with emotion.  
That was it. They had to get married.  
Like ... now!

He stuffed the notebook back and covered it with the clean socks again.  
He didn't need to look at the page of names. It was burnt into his memory.  
What use would it be anyway to the police?  
There were no surnames. Just first names.  
Nothing to pin any one by.  
Of far more importance was his impending marriage to Paul.

John grabbed his phone and looked up the calendar.  
June 21st was a Saturday. It was also midsummer's day.  
That sounded good.  
As Paul entered the room carrying two mugs of tea, John beamed up at him.  
"Hey, babe, we're getting married on the 21st June, okay?"  
Paul blinked but offered no resistance to the idea.  
"Three days after my birthday?"  
John grinned. "Yup. Three days after your birthday. In about three weeks time. Any objection?"  
Paul shook his head.   
"Good." John felt a quiet satisfaction. "That's one thing settled then."


	44. Chapter 44

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Er ... didn't plan to write this ... but this happened.

Looking back on this period John recalled feeling like a juggler with every ball in the air. So many things happenening all demanding his attention, his planning, his input.  
First, Mimi.  
She'd looked at him with horrified eyes.  
"21st June? John, that's ... that's hardly three weeks away!!"  
He'd patted her on the shoulder.  
"Yeah, but you're amazing, Mimi. I know you can do it."  
Overcome by his comment ... compliment, really ... she's simpered and fussed and wrung her hands and finally said she'd see what she could do. Mentally she was already compiling a list of friends and neighbours she could call on to help her. The local W.I. Her friends from the Mothers' Union at St. Peter's. Not for one moment did it occur to her that they would find anything odd about her nephew marrying another man. Her organised mind had already compartmentalised that fact, so therefore everyone else would have to get on board.

John escaped down the path of Mendips breathing a sigh of relief. That was the first hurdle over with, and he knew she would come up with the goods. There had been no problem over booking the church or hiring morning suits at short notice. They'd used the same shop that Ritchie had who already possessed their measurements, the only change being that of the colour of their waistcoats. Faced with an array of varying colours Paul had hummed and hawed and chewed his finger while he considered. The fact that the young assistant, who was eyeing Paul speculatively anyway, much to John's annoyance, was rather pushy didn't help matters. As John knew well. Paul had a stubborn streak in him that would put a mule to shame. He didn't like being rushed or pressurised into anything. After at least half hour of deliberating he decided on the aqua colour, which John secretly preferred anyway ... not only did it set off Paul's dark hair beautifully but it caught all those different swirling colours in his hazel eyes. But when it came to John choosing, to his surprise Paul was very definite on that. So definite it took John by surprise.  
"The gold one" Paul said, his tone brooking no disagreement.  
John looked at him, stunned. "The gold?"  
Paul nodded determinedly. "Yes. It makes you look like the sun. It .. it suits you." Paul stammered, suddenly overcome by his own audacity.  
John smiled warmly. "Okay. The gold it is then. So if I'm the sun, what are you?"  
John had fully expected Paul to say the sky, but he didn't. "The moon."  
He had no answer to that.

So they had their suits.  
Mimi was hard at work organising a reception.  
The church was booked.  
George was going to be their best man.  
Four things ticked off the list.  
Rings to be bought ... next item on John's list.  
He'd half a mind to take Paul with him to do that. Ritchie had explained how he'd used a card that had the ring sizes engraved on it and got Lottie to put her finger in the different ones until they'd found out the size.  
"She knew you were doing it, then? It wasn't a surprise?"  
Ritchie shook his head. "Bit difficult to make that a surprise, to be honest, mate. An expensive mistake if you go for the wrong size."  
John digested the information with a thoughtful nod.  
"Best take him with me, then."  
Ritchie grinned broadly.  
"Well, John, Paul is gonna need to get a ring for you too."  
John started with surprise. He hadn't thought about that. He'd been so focused on having everything in place for his marriage to Paul he'd almost forgotten it worked both ways.  
Ritchie gave a wry smile as he saw this dawning realisation within John.  
"Knowing how ditsy Paul can be, it might be an idea for you to tow him along to a jewellers anyway. It probably won't occur to him to buy you a ring until you are actually both standing at the altar."

But that was where Ritchie was wrong.  
Paul had thought about it.  
He'd worried about it.  
What kind to get.  
What size to get.  
Would he have enough money.  
So when John turned round and said that next Sunday they were gonna head into the city centre to find a decent jewellers Paul almost wept with relief ... not that he'd let John know that, of course. Just pretended he was cool with it all.  
Calmly nodded and said he'd put it in his diary.  
Which made John smile.  
The only diary Paul had was his teaching one.  
But if it made him feel in control, well ... why worry.  
Tick ... nearly ... number five off the list.

Then, in the way as often happens with life, someone comes along and dumps a pile of shit.  
Well ... it wasn't really a pile of shit. At least, not compared to the problems they'd already faced.  
But Paul had his final appointment on Tuesday at the hospital. They both had the day off to go. They knew from their last experience it would take a day.  
A boring day.  
Rob was taking charge of the shop and Paul's lessons that evening had been cancelled.  
Then John's mobile rang Monday evening and it was Sean.  
His heart dropped.  
"Hi, John ... probably not a good time, but things are moving on here and we really need you to come in tomorrow if you would."  
Sean heard the hesitation. He coaxed. "If you possibly could."  
John could feel Paul's eyes on him, wide, questioning, seeing into his head.  
He tried to turn himself away, to reply quietly, knowing full well Paul would still hear every single word.  
"Sean, it's .. tomorrow's not a good day .. it's Paul's final check-up at the hospital and I'm going with him .. we've both got the day off .."  
Sean cut in swiftly. "Is there any one else can go with Paul?"  
John glanced up. Paul was stationary ... arms folded defensively across his chest .. watching John.  
"I .. I guess, but .."  
"Good. That's good. Can you get here for ten or shall I send a car?"  
Fuck! How had Sean managed to get him from there to here in just a few words? He didn't remember agreeing to this.  
He heaved a sigh. "No, I'll get myself there."  
"Good. Good man. See you tomorrow. Give Paul my best. I'm sure he'll do fine."  
Gone. Quick as that. Plans upside down again.  
John slipped his phone into his back pocket and faced Paul.  
"It .. er, it was ..."  
"Sean, yeah, I know."  
John ran a hand over his recently shorn hair, feeling the soft tufts that were probably sticking up.  
"I need to ..."  
"Go in to the station, yeah. Okay."  
John surveyed his shoes. "Maybe George or Ritch..."  
"I can go on my own." Paul cut in swiftly, defiantly, two spots of colour high in his cheeks.  
He hated feeling a burden. He'd done enough of that in this relationship.  
John softened. "It can be a long wait .."  
"I'll be fine."  
"And I would be far happier if I knew someone was with you. At least part of the day. I'm not gonna be at the station all day."  
"I don't need anyone."  
"I'll ring George."  
"John" Paul was frustrated at his inability to get through "I don't need anyone. I'm perfectly capable."  
Perfectly capable. John scratched his head again. Maybe Paul was but there was a reluctance on John's part to let Paul go anywhere on his own, just in case.  
He didn't question what the 'just in case' was.  
It was always there.  
"I know you're perfectly capable, love, but .. please .. let me ask George. It'll stop me worrying about you. Please. For me."  
Paul huffed a little sigh, keeping his arms folded.  
"Please?"  
Paul glanced defiantly out of the sitting room window into the back yard.  
Twenty six paving slabs.  
He blinked, feeling annoying tears of frustration in his eyes.  
"If you must."

He'd really wanted to go with John. Buried somewhere inside him he had happy, warm, comforting memories of that last appointment. He couldn't recall what had happened, just that he'd been content and it had left a warm glow. But if he couldn't have John ...  
"All ready, Paul?"  
George would do, standing there with a too long t-shirt that proclaimed 'I want to change the world' and his hair still in dreadlocks with streaks of orange among the red.  
Paul responded to George's open smile with one of his own, and nodded, remembering to pick up the appointment letter and card that John had placed on the mantelpiece the night before.  
"Has John gone?" George wished for a moment he'd not made that simple enquiry as Paul's eyes clouded, a haze of worry crossing them.  
He fiddled with the torn edge of the brown envelope, feeling the coarse edges slip between his fingers.  
"Uh huh".  
"Right. Well, maybe we should head off too. Bus or walk?"  
What had they done last time? Paul struggled to remember. Had it been November? December? It had been dark when they came out.  
"I had cheesy jacket potato and beans" Paul informed George solemnly.  
George picked up the information quickly, avoiding the fact that his question had not been answered.  
"You can have the same today if you want .. if we're still there. John said it took ages last time."  
Paul reached for his red jacket and slipped it on over a grey t-shirt.  
"We were there all day."  
He was confident in that reply. He could recall the dark. People going home from work. His fingers had been cold and he'd slipped them into John's pocket, secure in the knowledge that no one would notice in the blackness. He could remember the feel of John's fingers curved around his own, and sighed. He wanted John. A finger slipped of it's own accord into his mouth and he began chewing the ragged skin at the edge of the nail.  
"Shall we walk?"  
Paul blinked. What had George said?  
"John's had to go to the police station."  
George felt the ground shifting. This wasn't going to be quite as straightforward as he hoped. Did he comfort Paul or briskly move him on?  
"Yeah, I know" George opted for the latter "That's why I'm here. To go with you."  
"Not to the police station."  
George shook his head. "Not to the police station, no. We're going to the hospital. You have an appointment, yeah?"  
Paul's thoughts were sluggish, swimming around in a murky pool.  
He wanted John.  
As in really wanted him.  
He sat down abruptly on the settee and picked up a throw.  
George gave himself a shake. This wasn't going to be as easy.  
"Paul, we need to go. Otherwise we're going to be late." George tried to stay calm even as his thoughts scrabbled frantically. They'd not make the hospital in twenty five minutes unless they really stepped out. Maybe .. maybe he ought to ring for a taxi. But then .. what if Paul refused to move?  
George perched on the arm of the settee and tugged Paul's arm.  
"Seriously, love, we have to go or you'll be late. Come on ..." George rose swiftly to his feet hoping by dint of his own impetus he could motivate Paul.  
It didn't work.

Half hour later, with Paul's appointment about to begin, George gave up and rang the hospital. The receptionist was not particularly understanding.  
"What do you mean, can't attend? It would have helped if you could have given us more than twenty four hours notice. There are a number of appointments scheduled for this young man today, and ..."  
George glanced in a mixture of frustration, exasperation and hopelessness at Paul who'd simply curled up on the settee and removed himself from the world around him.  
"He's not in a state to come."  
Maybe he sounded more annoyed than he really was. After all, he'd had Paul like this before.  
There was a pause on the other end of the line.  
Then ... "Just bear with me and I'll transfer you to a senior nurse."  
Even as George watched Paul slid slowly onto his side, still hugging that purple throw, his eyes closing.  
A smile twisted George's face. Well, that was one out for the count.  
A warm voice with a deep Scouse accent came on the phone, and George found himself explaining ... this time to someone who would not only listen but who actually knew Paul.  
"Look, don't worry about it. I'll get in touch with all the different clinics and get him re-booked for next week. Would that be okay, do you think?"  
George nodded, then realised that couldn't be heard. "Yeah. Yeah, I think so."  
"And are you able to stay with Paul while he's like this or would you like me to get Ritchie or Lottie to leave early?"  
George shook his head. "I can stay till four and I reckon his partner will be back, but .. tell you what .. if not I'll ring you and maybe Ritch could nip home quick like."  
"That's fine. Okay. I'll send a new appointment letter through soon as I've organised it. Just keep him warm and don't let him get dehydrated."  
George mouthed the words silently with the nurse. How often had he heard that, eh?  
He put his phone away, made himself a cup of tea, and prepared to Paul-sit for the rest of the day.

When Paul woke his first thought was why was he lying on the settee in the living room with his jacket and shoes on?  
His next thought was that he was hot ... not surprising considering it was the beginning of June, a sunny day, and those old Victorian terraces could be stifling in the summer and cold in the winter.  
Next it was a warm hubbub of conversation that caught his ears ... Ritchie and Lottie and .. George ??? ... yes, George.  
Why was George here?  
A sinking feeling overcame him.  
He was supposed to do something with George today, wasn't he?  
He tried to garner his scattered thoughts but they ran away from him, spiralling in hundreds of directions.  
He kept his eyes screwed tightly shut while he thought. Or tried to.  
Where was John?  
He hugged the purple throw tighter ...  
... why was he hugging it?  
What had happened?  
"Oy, sleeping beauty, what you up to?"  
John's voice, tinged with amusement and concern.  
Paul's eyes flew open to see John squatted by him, observing him from amber eyes.  
Gold, like the sun.  
Like the waistcoat for their wedding.  
Paul's reason for being, revolving around him.  
He was back.  
Paul couldn't recall where he'd gone, but he was back.  
He struggled clumsily to sit up, hampered by the throw that had twisted around his feet, and John's hand grasped his wrist, giving a tug.  
"Ah, he's woken at last." Ritchie's voice in an exclamation of joy ... even if slightly put on.  
Then suddenly Lottie was at his side in professional mode, gently pushing John away.  
Her hand sought his forehead, gave a little pinch of the flesh on his arm  
.... "too hot ... get some water, please ... and pop some ice cubes in ..."  
She turned back to him. "How are you feeling?"  
Paul coloured in embarrassment. He hated being the centre of attention anyway, particularly when he knew he'd probably fucked up spectacularly. He murmured an incoherent reply, his eyes searching for John. Lottie took firm hold of his hand and perched by him on the settee, moving so that Paul could focus on John without her in the way.  
"Do you have a headache?"  
Paul shook his head, his eyes never leaving John.  
A glass of ice cold water was placed into his hand and he drank greedily, eyes on John all the time.  
John's eyes were on him too.  
Watching.  
From his peripheral vision Paul saw George materialise next to John and say something.  
John shook his head.  
What were they saying?  
"... make the same ones for next week. It's been suggested he goes to see Dr. Inman too ... see if he can help."  
Over the top of his glass Paul frowned. Were they referring to him? And who the hell was Dr. Inman?  
John was watching him closely.  
So closely.  
Paul wanted to curl up.  
Remove himself from there to .. to ... somewhere else.  
Now he felt everyone's eyes on him.  
He buried his head between his knees and curled his arms around them.  
He would come out when everyone had gone away.  
Yes .. that was what he'd do.  
And then he could pretend today hadn't happened.  
He could feel Lottie's fingers, gentle, a woman's fingers, still round his wrist.  
They must all think he was a nutcase. A loony. Fucking hopeless.  
The pressure on his wrist released.  
"I'm gonna have to go ... I need to get to work" George's voice, a rustle of sound as he picked up his rucksack. That rucksack with the elephants embroidered on it. Paul had borrowed it once, when he came to stay at Ritchie's. Before he was with John. He could recall the frayed sensation of the worn straps through his fingers as if it had been only yesterday. So .. why couldn't he remember what should have happened today?  
"Yeah, thanks, George .. y'know, for staying with him."  
"It's okay ... let me know if you need help next week. Guess you want this over and done with before the wedding? Yeah?"  
"Yeah. It would be good. One thing off the list."  
List? What list? What needed to be done?  
"See you Ritch."  
"Bye George ... must catch up for that drink we keep promising ourselves."  
There was a hearty laugh. "Yeah ... get all these weddings out the way first."  
"Shall I start a meal?" It was Lottie's voice, inquisitive. "Will Paul eat if I make something?"  
Paul curled up tighter into himself. Listening to people talk about him was disturbing. He wished they'd ignore him. Pretend he wasn't there. Then he could make good his escape and pretend none of this had happened ... whatever it was ... and try again.  
Try harder next time.  
There was the sound of feet travelling towards the front door, a lightening of the atmosphere in the room as people exited.  
Paul let out a sigh, then jumped as a hand roughly stroked over his hair.  
"Hey, are you okay?" John. Voice gentle.  
Paul peeked from between his knees, his eyes cloudy. He looked wordlessly at John.  
"What happened?"  
What happened???  
Paul had no idea what had happened.  
John tried again.  
"Can you remember what you were supposed to be doing?"  
Paul's shoulders gave an infinitesimal shrug as he tried to shrink smaller.  
"Can you remember why George was here?"  
Why was John asking him questions? He didn't want to be asked questions. He wanted to ... wanted to ... be somewhere else ... doing something else.  
Into his mind shot a visual memory of the choir at the care home. He was working on an arrangement for them at the moment ... a medley. He had papers strewn across the piano at the shop. That was what he wanted to do. He could do that ... music .... it was his life blood. He began humming under his breath some Scottish tune.  
John's brows drew together in a frown.  
"Paul?"  
At the sound of his name Paul's head jerked up. To John he suddenly appeared alert. As if someone had flipped a switch.  
"What are you humming?"  
Paul looked speechlessly at John, the humming ceasing as if it had been cut off abruptly.  
Heaving a sigh ... which made Paul feel bad ... he must be the cause of it ... John moved from his squatting position on the floor and took a seat next to Paul on the settee.  
Paul's eyes followed John's movements questioningly as he uncurled himself, tucking his legs under him.  
Sitting so close John could feel the heat radiating off Paul ... he could feel something else too ... something he couldn't quite put his finger on ... uncertainty? panic?  
Paul's eyes looked clear but, at the same time, unsure. Like a child that had been dropped in a strange country where no one spoke it's language.  
John shut his eyes for a moment, delving deep for extra reserves. It had been weeks since Paul had had an occasion like this. Weeks. So what had tipped him?  
When John opened his eyes again it was to find Paul watching him intently as if he was an object to be observed. Scarily detached.  
John reached for Paul's hand.  
"Do you remember you had a hospital appointment today?"  
Paul blinked slowly. No. He didn't.  
"That was why George was here .. to take you. To go with you."  
John ran his thumb over Paul's fingers. Some idle part of his mind wondered what size ring Paul would take? The active part of his mind wondered how to fetch Paul back from wherever it was he'd gone. John had absolutely no idea what existed in this part of Paul's world .. the world he retreated to when things went wrong.  
Other than twenty-six paving slabs. He smiled to himself at the memory of their first visit to Mimi's.  
Counting. Paul's security.  
Could that be a way in?  
"How many tea towels do we need to buy for the flat?"  
A shot in the dark.  
"Twelve."  
Paul's reply was so precise ... so swift it took John by surprise.  
"Twelve? Oh, right."  
"Yeah ... so we've got one for each day and five spare in case of accidents."  
"Accidents? Right. Planning on a few of those, are you?"  
Paul frowned. The humour was lost on him.  
"What else do we need to buy?"  
John sat back in amazement as Paul began a mental ticklist. He'd not realised the young man had the whole thing down to such a fine art.  
Control.  
John remembered now.  
The counting ... it was how Paul felt he had some control over his life. Everything ordered. Whatever else was going on, whatever madness his life had been plunged into, he could count. Compartmentalise.  
When Paul reached the end of what was, to John, a very thorough and precise list, John looked at him in awe.  
"Have you written this down?"  
Paul shrugged, coloured, and dropped his glance to his fingers which he laced together tightly.  
"Do you mean it's all in your head?"  
There was a tiny nod.  
"Well ..." John kept his voice calm, wondering how to channel all this information Paul was carrying "...y'know, on Sunday, when we go to get rings, or at least have a look, yeah?..."  
Paul glanced up at him, a jolt of surprise in his eyes. Rings. Yeah, he remembered something being said, but ..  
John continued smoothly ".... why don't we do a bit of shopping for the flat. Get these ..." he searched his memory "... twelve tea towels and four bath towels and four hand towels and .. what was it? ... dozen teaspoons? Yeah? Fancy doing that?"  
Paul's eyes were so intense on his face John almost felt like squirming. It was as if he was being read.  
"With you?" Paul's question was more of a statement.  
John nodded. "With me, yeah."  
"Not George."  
Ah ha. "Not George, no."  
There was a relaxation of Paul's features. A gentling. A puffy sigh escaped.  
"Just you?"  
John smiled. "Just me, yeah. You not fed up of me then?"  
Paul's eyes widened. "No. Never."  
John shifted his position on the settee and slipped his arm around Paul's shoulders.  
It was pretty obvious Paul had no memory of the day, of what had happened, of what had tipped him, but John realised that without doubt it was because he'd not been there.  
"Okay. So ... Sunday. We'll go and look at rings, yeah? And get some stuff ready for the flat."  
Paul nodded. John could feel the softness of Paul's messed up hair against his cheek.  
It was no good asking any more questions.  
This would just be another lost day in Paul's life.


	45. Chapter 45

"It's because you weren't here, isn't it?"  
The voice was accusatory, startling John from his reverie. He'd been gazing out of the kitchen window without seeing anything, without thinking, while he made the tea, his mind in some vague wishy-washy world. Twenty six paving slabs. That was what the backyard contained. A little washing line ... put up since the arrival of Lottie ... and a view of identical roofs and walls.  
Garnering his scattered thoughts, John played for time, squeezing the tea bags against the side of the mugs, before he turned to face Ritchie.  
The tone may have been accusatory, but Ritchie's eyes were full of sympathy.  
A statement, then, not an accusation.  
John gave a little sigh, and reached to drop the tea bags in the bin.  
"Yeah, I guess it was."  
He felt a slight pang of guilt that he'd not been around for Paul yesterday, but also was puzzled. He'd felt sure the lad would be okay with George and he'd not displayed any wobbles when John had set off to go to the station. Then again, Paul was a past master at hiding his feelings.  
"I thought he'd be okay, y'know" John explained, adding milk to the tea. "I mean, he had George to go with. He'd said he wanted to go on his own originally." He reached for the sugar and added a couple of spoons to Paul's tea.  
"George isn't you, though."  
John let that sink in for a moment. Why had it been important for Paul that it was John with him? Did the lad himself even know? After all, he was independent enough at getting himself to the care home on a Thursday. He was independent at managing his teaching schedule. Why did some things flip him and not others?  
"He might have been worrying 'cos you had to go to the station" Ritchie mused.  
John had been trying not to think about that. About the visit. About what had been said. He shifted uncomfortably.  
He didn't know how much Ritchie knew. How much George had enlightened him.  
And neither of them knew what John did.  
He squeezed his eyes tight shut and blinked rapidly.  
"We're gonna go into town on Sunday and have a look at rings and get some bits for the flat. Paul's got this endless list in his head of stuff we need."  
Ritchie looked at him, startled at the swift change of topic, and John himself was surprised at the words that had just left his mouth. It was the kind of thing Paul did when he felt under pressure ... change the subject.  
They looked at one another in astonishment.  
John coloured.  
"Sorry .. there's some things I just don't wanna talk about" he apologised sheepishly.  
Ritchie gave a shrug. "It's okay. I understand. It can't be easy. Has Paul slept?"  
John's smile was genuine. "Oh yeah. I never can understand how he does it, y'know? Slept most of yesterday away and then goes to bed and sleeps all night as well. " He picked up the mugs of tea. "I'd better go wake him or we'll never get to work on time."

Paul had rolled over into the space left by John, one arm outflung, breathing deeply. As far as John knew he'd had a peaceful night. At least most of the nightmares seemed to have, finally, ceased. He hoped. John put the mug down on the bedside table and considered his partner thoughtfully. What had flipped Paul yesterday? Had it been so important that he had John with him at the hospital or was it John having to go to the police station? Or a mixture of the two? Or something completely unconnected? Would Paul himself even know? Or remember yesterday? John sighed heavily, and poked Paul in the ribs.  
"Tea, Paul ... wakey wakey."  
John loved to watch him stir. The fluttering of lashes, the tiny smacking noises he made with his lips, those drowsy, heavy lidded, sleep clouded eyes slowly focusing.  
"Mmsnotyet...."  
He decided he should keep a book of Paulism's. A anthology of nonsense words to be uttered on waking.  
"It is, darling" John drawled, grinning.  
Paul yawned widely, stretching his arms, flexing his fingers.  
John picked up the mug and waved it in what he hoped was line of Paul's vision. Bingo! A smile curved Paul's lips.  
"Oh, tea, tha'snice" he murmured as he struggled to sit up, gathering the duvet primly round him.  
"Mmm ... it must be nice to wake up every morning to a cup of tea ... I must remember to try it sometime .. if my lazy boyfriend can shift his arse out of bed." John's smile took the sting out of the words.  
Paul reached out for the mug that was tantalisingly held out of reach. "I can do it, Johnny, it's just .. just .. " he yawned again, and shoved the heavy fringe out of his eyes " ... it's just you always wake before me. I don't mind ... let me have the tea ... "  
"What do you say?"  
"Please. Pretty please."  
John placed it into Paul's hands, who gratefully sipped the rapidly cooling beverage with a slight wrinkle of his nose ... he so liked his tea stinging hot. But didn't want to complain. After all, it was a long way from kitchen to bedroom, and if John was good enough to make it for him ... he yawned again and tried to gather his scattered thoughts. Although he'd never mentioned to John, he found every morning somewhat ... perplexing. What he'd done the day before. What he needed to do today. What day it was. What date it was. What time it was. What commitments did he have. It was a long list he needed to plow through. Paul was acutely aware of an inadequacy in this aspect of him .. the fact that he couldn't remember things. At least, not straight away. He sometimes wondered if, while he slept, all his thoughts drifted away, tenuous links to his waking mind, silken threads easily broken. He was struggling this morning ... a fact that panicked him although he tried desperately not to let it show. He had no memory of yesterday. Nothing. Nil. No matter how much he tried. It was as if a veil had been drawn across. He drew his legs up, trying to appear nonchalant. Trying to appear normal. Trying to focus on what John was saying to him while another part of his mind .. the dominant part ... was screaming panic.  
".... and then, just as I ..."  
He couldn't contain it anymore.  
He cut straight across John's words, as if he'd not been speaking.  
"What happened yesterday?" The voice was small, scared. Paul wasn't looking at John. He was looking down into his half drunk mug of tea held in a hand that seemed no longer steady.  
John halted, dumbfounded, and swiftly removed the mug from Paul's hands lest it spill everywhere. He'd been halfway through relating something to Paul and thought the younger man had been listening.  
"What?" His voice was puzzled.  
Paul coloured furiously, the rose creeping up from his neck. He couldn't withdraw the sentence. Not now. He just had to press on. Admit it.  
"I ..." he gulped, swallowing nervously, his eyes dropping as he clutched the duvet tighter between fingers that were suddenly trembling. " I can't remember yesterday."  
There was a rush of emotion from John's gut that swept upwards.  
He perched next to Paul on the bed and took hold of one of the hands that was anxiously fingering the bed covers.  
"Hey, hey, look at me. Come on. Paul?"  
"John, I can't remember ... "  
"Look, ssh, don't panic. Just ... stop. Hold on."  
Paul's mind was whirling at a hundred miles an hour as he scrabbled to think, but memories shot back at him even faster. Things that had happened recently. Ritchie's wedding ... Mimi ... teaching ... the care home ... cooking a meal ... but they were confused, arriving and departing in random clusters, like a film that had been sped up, trains coming and going. But not yesterday. Of yesterday there was no sign. Not for the first time Paul doubted his sanity. He'd tried to cover up his inadequacies, devising techniques along the way that would veil his failings, but he found himself clutching helplessly at the strings that tied them to him as it all began to fall apart. And he was frightened. Scared of his lack of ability to cohesively organise his life. Afraid of the gaps .. great gaping holes in his existence that he couldn't complete, like pieces of a jigsaw that were missing. He felt John's arms go round him, and he sank in gratefully to the warmth and security that those arms offered. He didn't want to be like this ... so dependent upon John to ground him all the while. He'd tried really hard, had painted an almost perfect facade of someone who could organise his life, but it kept slipping. And each slip left a questioning hole. He leaned even more heavily into the arms that held him, voicing his fear. That fear that niggled always at the back of his mind, goading, pushing, taunting, questioning.  
"Am I ... " his voice was shaky ... should he say it? Should he let it out? There could be no recall once released. He felt John's hand smoothing over his hair, and he buried his nose into that warm collarbone, muffling the words, so he wasn't really saying them ... not really ... just ... "am I going mad? Do you think ... do you think I'm ..."  
John's grip on him tightened and pushed him backwards. In John's eyes he saw a flash of anger and was scared. Maybe he shouldn't have said it. Maybe John didn't want to know. Maybe John didn't want to marry someone who was a loony .. but John was gripping him tightly, fingers urgent, digging into Paul's biceps, forcing him to make eye contact.  
Paul held his breath. Maybe John was going to push him away. Maybe ...  
"No, I don't." John's words were decisive, bitter almost, spat out, the anger flashing in his eyes.  
It took a moment for Paul to analyse John's short sentence. When he managed it .. put his question and John's reply together ... his heart gave a little jump.  
"You .. you don't?"  
Although the anger remained in John's eyes clearly for Paul to see, it wasn't directed at him. What was directed at him was the smile. It was twisted, bitter almost, but tender.  
John's voice was softer. "No, I don't, Paul. You've had a massive trauma in your life and it causes you to have lapses sometimes, but mad?" John shook his head. "Definitely not. I'm so proud of you, how you've managed to turn your life around. Walk away from everything that's gone on."  
Paul had needed to hear that. Tears of relief sprang unwarranted to his eyes and he determinedly forced them down, refusing to let them spill over. He'd been so worried ... when he couldn't recall things, when whole days ... weeks, even, of his life seemed to be missing ... and that fear. That concern that he was unstable. It was just that, sometimes, the floor shifted from under his feet, the world tilting abnormally, and no one else seemed to notice. If John thought he was okay ... if John thought ... then ... then ... he scrabbled with his fingers to find a purchase on John's dressing-gown and nestled back into John's arms, breathing a sigh of relief.

John was angered, though, not at Paul, but at what Paul had been put through. His visit to the station yesterday had been because one of the detainee's had talked. Spilled the beans, as it was. Revealing the games that had been played. The guy hadn't known Paul's name. In fact, he wasn't aware the young lad had even had a name. It had never been spoken. He was nothing. That was how he'd been introduced. Nothing. John's lips tightened. No wonder Paul had referred to himself so often like that. But the description the guy had given fitted Paul perfectly, confirming the identity when shown the photographs. It was going to create a big shift in the prosecution when the trial resumed.

"You were supposed to go to the hospital yesterday" John murmured, relishing the clean smell of Paul's hair as he buried his nose into it.  
He felt Paul start, fingers suddenly gripping a little tighter. John kept talking, smoothing it out, filling in the holes, the gaps.  
"George was going with you. I couldn't, so George came round."  
George. The tapestry bag with elephants on, the frayed straps that Paul could still feel on his fingers. The marching line of faded red elephants. There were thirty nine and a half elephants. He could see them with his mind's eye, trunks uplifted on a brown background, the whole ensemble having a drift of spice to it, as did everything acquainted with George.  
"I had to go down to the police station, which was why I couldn't go with you." John glossed over that fact, feeling he needed to mention it all the same. Not wanting to short change Paul.  
"There's thirty nine and a half elephants" Paul murmured into John's rapidly dampening dressing-gown.  
John paused, frowning, stilling for a moment, then jogged himself to keep smoothing the hair that was nestled on his shoulder.  
"Thirty nine and a half?" he queried. Where had Paul dug elephants up from?  
There was a slight nod.  
"Where's the other half?" John's lip had a tiny twitch of amusement flickering around it.  
"It's because of the seam" Paul explained, his voice sounding quite confident. He knew this. He could answer this question.  
John was truly lost now.  
"Seam?"  
He felt Paul huff, an impatient sigh, and his smile began to grow.  
"Yes. The seam. Because the bag tapers towards the top it cuts one of the elephants in half."  
Well, of course, I should have realised, John wanted to answer jocularly, then he twigged. The bag that George always ... or seemingly always ... carried.  
"Ohhhh! George's bag!"  
Paul pulled back out of John's arms, looking disparagingly at him.  
"What did you think I was talking about?" he demanded petulantly.  
John grinned, and went to ruffle Paul's hair, who expertly ducked.  
"For a moment I had absolutely no idea."  
He beamed at Paul and Paul beamed back, worries for a moment forgotten. Then the smile faltered.  
"Why did you have to go to the police station?"  
The weight settled heavily on John's heart. He dropped eye contact. He could feel Paul waiting.  
"Something came up" he said vaguely. He could feel Paul's eyes watching him.  
Expecting more.  
John determinedly shut his mouth.  
He indicated Paul's now cold cup of tea. "You've not drank your tea, love."  
Paul's eyes were searching. Digging into John's soul. Rooting thoughts out.  
"Do you remember when we met?"  
John started. What had caused Paul to ask that? And ... which met?  
The first? The second?  
Both were an embarrassment. John wished he could re-write them. Make it a more romantic occasion.  
He cleared his throat uncomfortably, aware of a high colour rising.  
"In the pub?" Paul clarified.  
The first time then.  
Jesus, how he hated recalling that occasion.  
Feeling put on the spot, John muttered a reply. "Of course I do."  
Paul nodded sagely. "It wasn't a good beginning."  
John's face was now on fire. Why the fuck had Paul seen fit to raise this?  
"Paul, if I could wipe it all away and start again ..."  
"No, no, that's not what I mean. I'm not criticising you, John. There was no reason you should have taken me seriously. I was just looking for company for the night and you .. you .. were ..." Paul struggled to phrase it politely.  
John cut through the bullshit. "Just looking for a fuck, yeah. Not something I'm proud of, that memory. What you trying to get at?"  
Paul backed off slightly, unnerved by John's rather harsh words, and fiddled with the bed covers.  
"I ... I think I forget things because they're not good, y'know, but ... I didn't forget that. Our first meeting. So .. it .. must have meant something. Or maybe I realised it was going to mean something. I guess ... what I'm trying to say ... " Paul heaved a sigh, trying to create a cohesive sentence "I fancied you, y'know ... then. That night. Always have."  
John melted. He could feel himself pool into a puddle of goo.  
"C'mere, you soft lad." He tugged Paul back into his arms. Paul had forced him to face his worst memory and forgiven him all in a few faltering words. John hadn't been proud of that first meeting. He'd treated Paul no better than anyone else had in his mind, just using and discarding him. The fact their paths had crossed again had been a miracle. Or fate. Or destiny.  
"I fancied you too" John murmured into Paul's ear "Just took me a bit longer to realise, is all."  
"That's okay" Paul's reply was quite smug and John couldn't help but smile "You got there in the end."

"So ... let's count up then. Check we haven't missed anyone. Ritchie and Lottie and George, three. George's mum and dad. Five."  
Paul's eyes were fixed on John from where he perched cross legged next to him on the settee. John held the pen and paper and Paul's fingers were itching to take them out of John's hands and check the list himself. After all, counting was his thing. He gave an impatient wriggle and John paused, surveying him, a smile twitching the corners of his mouth as if he knew what Paul was thinking.  
"Hope you're keeping count?"  
Paul nodded, chewing his lip. Yup, five. He'd got that.  
John returned to the list. "Mimi ... obviously .."  
"Six" Paul supplied swiftly.  
John's smile was bubbling but he kept his head down. "Six, yeah. Then Jacob and Ro.."  
"Eight." Paul cut in.  
John eased back on the settee and looked at his partner. He could feel the waves of energy emanating from the stationary figure, as if every nerve ending was twitching.  
"Eight, okay. Let me at least finish the names" John admonished.  
He heard a tiny sigh escape Paul's lips.  
"Steve makes ..."  
Paul turned his head and blinked. He was not going to satisfy John if he wasn't going let him take charge.  
"Paul?"  
"Hmmm?"  
"I thought you were counting?"  
"..."  
"Okay, nine with Steve."  
"I knew that."  
John was finding it difficult to contain the laughter that was bubbling up inside him. He squashed it back down. He enjoyed teasing Paul.  
"Trevor from the hospital ..."  
"Ten."  
"What about his wife? We should invite her too?"  
"Eleven then."  
"In that case, what about Steve's wife?"  
"I don't know Steve's wife."  
"Well, you don't know Trevor's either."  
Paul's gaze switched back to the window and the row of seagulls he could see perched on a neighbour's roof. They always seemed to choose that roof. He vaguely wondered why.  
"So .. how many is that .. if we add the wives?"  
"Five."  
John blinked, and paused, pen poised over paper. "Five?"  
Paul waved a hand in the direction of the window. "Oh, no, six now."  
John craned his neck and caught sight of what Paul was watching.  
"D'you wanna invite them too then?"  
Paul frowned. "What?"  
John shook his head. "S'okay, just having you on. So .. if we invite the wives, which we should, we will have.."  
"Twelve" Paul supplied quickly, his eyes still on the seagulls. One had flown off but another two had arrived and were very busy doing whatever it was they did. Did they converse? he wondered idly, and if they did, what would they talk about?  
"And what about Howard and his mam? D'you wanna invite them?"  
Paul nodded, mentally taking the list to fourteen, and now there were seven seagulls too. He neatly compartmentalised them. Guest list on the right, seagulls on the left.  
"Then there's Stu" John winced as he said the name and felt the jolt of electricity that ran through Paul.  
He glanced up. Paul's eyes were determinedly gazing out of the window.  
"Still counting, babe?"  
Yes, he was. "Fifteen" he muttered through gritted teeth.  
Figured that Stu would be that number.  
"And then there's the helpers that Mimi has organised ... she's got a couple of friends from the Mothers' Union at church helping with the reception ... it would only be polite to invite them too."  
Paul's fingers twisted idly. He didn't like not having anything physical to do.  
"How many's that, Paul?"  
Paul. John was calling him by his proper name. No endearment. It must be serious then. He released the seagulls from out of his mind.  
"Seventeen."  
"Seventeen. Okay? Not a lot, is it, really?"  
Paul shrugged. He was bored now. John hadn't let him do the check list, and...  
"Sure there's no one else? Any one at all on your side?"  
The look Paul shot him spoke volumes.  
"Okay, seventeen. We'll send the invites out .. though everyone's got the date anyway. So ... " John threw Paul a bone "would you like to do the invites?"  
Paul turned to gaze at him.  
"I thought, if we got some card, you might like to design them. I can get some small envelopes to put them in, and you can borrow my inks if you like."  
In his mind Paul was already devising designs ... the fact they contained a lot of musical notes and birds perched on roofs would have been of no surprise to John. He was excited, fingers twitching to get started, then suddenly deflated. John saw him go down like a balloon that had been popped.  
"What? What's the matter?"  
"I'm not .. good at art .. not like you .. I can't ... I mean, they won't be .."  
John silenced his objections with a swift kiss.  
"Paul, you are just as good at art as me. Just 'cos you've not been trained. And face facts, I didn't have much training either. I mean " a wicked idea popped into John's head then popped out just as quickly on his tongue " if you don't wanna do them I can always ask Stu ..."  
"I'll do them." There was a defiant glint in Paul's eye that John loved. He'd never, ever, sussed out what it was about Stu that Paul didn't like. He could only ... and there was a warm smug little glow inside him ... that said 'jealousy'.  
"Fine. That's cool. So, fifteen. We must make sure we've not forgotten anyone."  
Paul nodded, but his thoughts had drifted again onto designs, his head full of swirling motifs.  
John smiled contentedly and settled back against the settee.  
"So" he asked drily "how are the seagulls going?"  
He quickly ducked Paul's clumsy swipe.

"What are you doing about rings, John?" Mimi enquired, sipping daintily from a cup of tea.  
John took a sly glance at his watch. Thursday afternoon. Rob had suggested he shut up shop early and take advantage of getting some more wedding plans done. John idly wondered how much more there was to do? Rob seemed very ... invested ... in their wedding. And excited. Suggesting wedding lists. Now that was something John and Paul hadn't thought of.  
"Me and Paul .."  
"Paul and I" Mimi corrected quietly.  
John blithely ignored her. "Me and Paul are going into town on Sunday to have a look an' get some other bits and pieces."  
Mimi's eyebrows shot up. "Sunday?"  
"Mimi, there's been Sunday trading for years now."  
"I know that, John" she said scathingly "but any decent jeweller worth his salt probably will not be open on a Sunday."  
John frowned. It was slightly disturbing that the same thought had occurred to him.  
"Well, we don't really have another day. I mean .. we work, y'know."  
"So, take a day's leave. Or at least an afternoon. You don't want to compromise on such an important matter."  
John squirmed. "Thing is, I've already got next Tuesday off to go with Paul to the hospital .."  
Whoops!  
"Hospital? What's wrong with him? Is there a problem?"  
She knew it. She'd suspected there was something. That lad was never quite .. right. Not all there.  
"Mimi! There's nothing wrong with Paul, honest. It's just a check-up."  
"One doesn't normally go to hospitals for check-up's, John. Is there something you're not telling me?"  
John heaved a sigh and ran his fingers over his hair. He was sure it was growing back in tufts instead of evenly.  
May as well come clean ... sparing the details.  
"About a year ago Paul was jumped on by some guys when he was on his way to work and they knifed him. He was ... " John blinked, taken back for a moment in time " .. we didn't know if he'd survive."  
Mimi's face softened. "No! Did they get the people that did it?"  
"Yeah, they did. Not straight away but there were a lot of witnesses as it happened almost outside the hospital. It's, er ... it's how Ritchie met Lottie 'cos he was with Paul at the time and he was knocked unconscious. Lottie was the nurse for both of them."  
Mimi was gazing at him open mouthed.  
"You never said .."  
"Paul doesn't like talking about it" John lied smoothly.  
"Has it .. er ... left any side effects?"  
John knew full well what his aunt was getting at. She was convinced Paul was rather ... different. Lacking somewhat. Somehow.  
He grinned. "Nope. He's okay, y'know ... just can't lift anything too heavy, is all."  
"Ahh!" Mimi nodded. No damage to the head then that might explain the odd behaviour.  
John hid his smile.  
Paul was always a bag of nerves around Mimi and, he thought, probably always would be. Most likely the women from the Mothers' Union who'd volunteered to help at their reception hadn't dared say no.  
"So, rings, John. You can't go to a department store for them ..."

Rob enveloped John in an enormous bear hug.  
"Take the day. Take two days, a fucking week if you want. You cannot rush the buying of rings. I'll cover the shop. You might not need all day anyway ... though it doesn't matter if you do."  
Paul watched wide-eyed.  
Rings.  
Money.  
He'd been saving. Saving like fury the majority of his teaching money that wasn't required for day-to-day living. And he had no idea how much a ring would cost. It was the unknown that worried him. He tried to pluck up the courage to ask Rob or Jacob but couldn't quite find it within himself. After all, wasn't it the kind of information any sane person would already know?  
"... don't you think?"  
Paul blinked, owl-like. Rob had asked him a question.  
Oh. What had he asked? He glanced worriedly at John, but John was just smiling.  
"Yup, we can try tomorrow, can't we Paul?"  
Paul nodded emphatically ... he had no idea what he was agreeing to.

It turned out Rob had given them the majority of the next day off ... a Saturday. Always a busy day at the shop but Jacob had been drafted in to help. Paul needed to be back late afternoon for pupils but that was all. John was like a child planning a picnic.  
"We'll get up early ... I'll do us a breakfast .. and we'll get off near to the Cathedral in the old quarter ... Rob says there's a really good jewellers near there that has unusual rings ... most of them are quite old. Not like any we'd get at a main street shop."  
Paul blinked bemused at John's energy and enthusiasm.  
They caught the twenty past nine bus into town and got off near to the Cathedral, wandering the old back streets full of Georgian town houses. John clasped Paul's hand tightly, fearing the lad might drift off down some street that caught his eye.  
"Here, look ... this one. Rob said the solicitors' office is on the corner and that it's just a few yards further down. Turn down an alley and ... yes, there, look. Who'd have thought ... I didn't know that even existed and I've been to the pub near here loads of times."  
John towed Paul up the worn stone steps and into the tiny shop that was dim and dark and smelt of furniture polish and something else ... some kind of chemical.  
"Silver polish" John said to Paul's query.  
A tabby cat wound itself around John's legs as they approached the counter, and a most unlikely clad guy for a jeweller rose to his feet from where he'd been squatting behind the counter. Gold teeth and piratical earrings dangled from under a mop of unruly black hair.  
A friend of Rob's.  
That would figure.  
To Paul the guy seemed to unfold ... taller and taller until he was towering ... and his eyes!! Rimmed with kohl and twinkling dark. Paul's mouth dropped open and John gave him a little nudge to stop staring. The jeweller seemed to find it all very amusing.  
"You must be John and Paul ..." his voice was deep, rolling, no Scouse accent there " ... Rob said you might be coming. Good to meet you."  
He shook John's hand.  
Paul had dodged behind John's back.  
"Rob said you're a silversmith" John made polite conversation, knowing Paul would re-emerge eventually.  
"Yeah, that's me. I do collect old and unusual jewellery too. Anything in particular you're looking for?"  
"Rings" John flashed a broad grin " we're getting married in a couple of weeks."  
Rohan, as he introduced himself, waved his arm in the direction of a counter. "Have a look over there. Those are all second hand. Alternatively, if you'd like to have a look at this tray ...." he rummaged under the counter and brought out some other rings " ... these are all made by me."  
John was aware of Paul peering round him, attracted by the display of simple silver rings, each with different colour stones. They were beautiful in their simplicity. Like a child reaching for a lollipop, Paul's fingers touched a plain silver band that had a single jade stone embedded in it.  
"I made that one last week" Rohan said, ignoring Paul's emergence smoothly "Took me a while to do, but I'm really proud of it. Try it on if you like."  
John glanced at Paul who was fingering the ring thoughtfully.  
"Try it" Rohan urged. "You never know what to think till you see it on."  
Paul slipped it on his finger, and the ring slid over the bony knuckles, nestling comfortably at the base of his finger. He glanced up at John with shining eyes, and John was suddenly struck by how green Paul's eyes looked, and how much the ring matched. It seemed it had been made for him.  
"D'you like it?" John asked gently.  
Paul nodded. In front of this rather amazing stranger he was dumbstruck.  
"Have a good look" John cautioned "Don't want you changing your mind at the altar " he joked.  
Paul blinked. That was just too serious for him. He ran the fingers of his other hand over the ring, enclosing it protectively, as if afraid someone might take it from him.  
"I like this one" he insisted firmly, trying to ignore the jewellers intense stare.  
"Well, if all customers were that easy" joked Rohan.  
Paul gazed at him wonderingly, then blushed when he realised Rohan had noticed his stare.  
"And what about you, John? See anything you like or would you prefer something old?"  
"That one!" Paul's fingers pointed to an almost identical silver band, slightly broader in width, on which was set an amber.  
Paul coloured even more at his own temerity, but it was urgent to him that John try it. He shrank into John's side, but his words were insistent. "Try it, please. It's ... it's your colour."  
With a wry smile ... John hadn't even realised he had a 'colour' ... he took the ring from Rohan's fingers and slid it on ... mmm ... a bit tight. If he really screwed it round he might ...  
"If you like that one I can make it bigger. Most of the rings on this tray are an average size ... those on the left are smaller, on the right they're bigger. There is an topaz stone ring that's about one size up ... why don't you try that one? If you still prefer the amber I can alter it ... I could have it done in a couple of days."  
The topaz was a perfect fit, and looked good, but beside him John could feel Paul shaking his head.  
"The amber, John" he whispered vehemently.  
Raising an eyebrow, he looked at Rohan, who smiled. "A young man who knows what he wants" he smiled.  
Paul ducked back behind John.

John took Paul to John Lewis for lunch and on the way to the restaurant they drifted through the various floors of the department store and Paul filled a basket, then a trolley, with lots of items for the flat.  
John was getting a bit twitchy about the bill Paul was running up but when they arrived at the check out Paul calmly pulled out a wad of cash and paid for it all. Gobsmacked, John looked at him.  
"When?.....How? ..."  
Paul gave a smile that lit up his whole face.  
"I've been saving, Johnny. I wasn't sure how much a ring was, and it was nowhere near as dear as I thought so I've got lots left."  
"Where you been keeping that amount of cash?"  
Paul blushed. "Under the mattress."  
"Under the mattress" John mimicked with a teasing smile. "We're not living in the 1930's now, y'know. We have things called banks."  
Paul rolled his eyes. "I know .. it's just .. just ..." he chewed his lip, his eyes searching his feet "It was more fun that way."

And now they were sitting in the restaurant along with other Saturday shoppers ... like a normal couple, John thought contentedly ... Paul with four laden bags at his feet, munching his way through a pasta dish, a glass of lager at his left hand. John sighed. They'd come a long way. There'd been times when he thought they'd never make it, but ... well, here they were. And in two weeks time they'd be Mr. and Mr. Lennon. A slow grin that he couldn't keep down began to spread across his face.  
Sometimes life was good.


	46. Chapter 46

John felt his jaw was on the floor. No, not felt ... knew. Knew it was. His mouth had dropped open and he couldn't, for the life of him, re-close it. He had lost all power.  
He looked across at Paul who was liberally, and unconcernedly, spreading strawberry jam over his toast, looking the picture of innocence, as if he had not just dropped a bombshell.  
"You ... you what??" John managed to reclaim his jaw enough to utter a response, hoping against hope he'd heard Paul wrong.  
Paul .. the bugger ... the beautiful, annoying, fucking bugger .... gazed over at John with wide guileless eyes.  
At the moment the strawberry jam and the toast was of more importance than the words he'd uttered a few moments ago.  
"Hmmm?"  
"What ..." John was sure steam must be issuing from his ears " what did you say?"  
Paul's eyes widened as he digested John's query. "Oh! That I'd asked Sean and Tom to the wedding. Thought it'd be nice, y'know. I mean, they've been nice" he finished lamely, wincing at his overuse of the word 'nice'. After all, he didn't really know them, but he was aware of the fact they'd been helpful to John and .. he squirmed .. yes, well ... he didn't want to think any further. But he liked them. Well, he liked Sean. Sean always seemed very solicitous. Tom too was okay but he hadn't had as much to do with him.  
A tiny flicker of alarm simmered in Paul's brain. John was awfully quiet. "You did say ... if I thought of anyone else ..." Paul added defensively.  
John could still feel the steam issuing from his ears.  
"And?" he prompted.  
Paul had turned back to adding more jam to the jam, and he glanced up again, knife in hand.  
"What?" Sometimes John could be SO tiring with all these questions. Paul found it SO exhausting.  
"And? Who else?"  
Paul blinked. It seemed he wasn't quite on John's wavelength.  
"Who else what?" He enquired politely, trying not to let John rile him.  
"Who else did you say you've invited?"  
Paul waved the knife airily around, tiny spatters of strawberry jam flying in John's direction. "Oh, the Care Home?"  
John groaned.  
Paul felt a jolt of anxiety. Maybe ... maybe ...  
"How many's that, Paul?"  
Paul had a sinking feeling. "Er, about forty two, I think."  
"Jesus Christ."  
Paul blinked rapidly. "You said .. you said if there was .."  
"Forty two???"  
"I couldn't leave anyone out."  
John let out an exhale of breath convinced that smoke and fire was probably pouring out too.  
"Well you can fucking tell Mimi."  
Paul went pale.  
"But .. but ..." words failed him. The knife fell from numb fingers, clattering into the mug of tea that was on his tray and sending it flying. John was annoyed at him. He knew it.  
He sat amidst a mess of jam and soggy toast floating about in spilt tea and wobbled. His finger and thumb tried to get into his mouth together.  
John melted.  
He tugged the whole mess .. including Paul .. into his arms.  
"It's okay .. it's okay. Alright? It's okay. You're right, we couldn't leave anyone out ..."  
He could hear Paul hiccuping in an attempt to explain and became aware of a damp patch on his jeans slowly spreading as the tea dripped steadily off the tray.  
"I .. I thought .." Paul was incoherent in an attempt to explain.  
John soothed his fingers over the dark hair ... noting absently as he did so he'd just added a mix of tea, crumbs and red jam to the soft locks ... and murmured soothing nothings to Paul while the other half of his mind frantically dealt with how ... HOW!! ... on earth was he going to tell Mimi their guest list had just tripled.  
"... going to sing for us ..." amongst hiccups Paul managed to get a few words out.  
"Eh?"  
Paul pulled back out of John's arms, a streak of strawberry jam across one cheek.  
"Ruby .. the old lady I told you about ..."  
John's mind was blank. Paul was always talking about the elderly people and he tended to phase him out.  
" ... she's practiced the accompaniment and they're going .. the choir, that is .. to sing the theme from Titanic at our wedding."  
Was there an irony in that? A sinking ship going down?  
"Er, Paul ... do they know your, er, marrying a man? I mean, me? Do they think it's a normal " John winced at his use of the word " wedding, love, or do they, erm, know?"  
Paul's eyes were so open, unhindered. He gazed at John as if it was the most stupid question ever. "Yes, they do."  
"Oh!" Well, that shut me up, John thought.  
Paul's finger discovered the trail of jam across his cheek and he unthinkingly wiped it off and licked his finger.  
"Jack, y'know, that was in the war ... he told me he met his partner Ian when they were in the same regiment. He said they lived together for the rest of their lives until Ian died about twenty years ago, and that they would definitely have married if they could, and Rosie said if she couldn't marry me then she was glad it was a man getting me and not another woman 'cos she'd have to be jealous otherwise."  
A tentative smile touched Paul's face. "Is it okay?"  
John heaved a sigh. He could never, ever say no to Paul. He realised he may as well capitulate now because he was gonna spend the rest of his life doing it.  
"I'll talk to Mimi. It'll be a bit of a shock, is all. Suddenly a lot more to cater for."  
"They won't eat a lot. Old people never do."  
John gave a twisted smile. "Yeah, okay."  
"Okay?" Paul's face lit up. "That's great. The matron said they'll hire a couple of minibuses to bring them all."  
John's heart sank.

"Forty two?? Forty TWO? FORTY two? FORTY TWO?"  
John gulped. He'd murder Paul fucking McCartney.  
"Er, yeah, Mimi ... forty two".  
Mimi closed her eyes. She'd gone very pale.  
And quiet.  
And ... still.  
John coughed nervously.   
Maybe she'd died of shock.  
Then she blinked. Slowly. Oh so slowly.  
He held out an olive branch.  
"The, er .. the matron of the Care Home rang to check this was alright and she said to in form you that they can bring food and drink."

John had been SO relieved to hear that. To get that phone call from a concerned Matron who wanted to make sure that Paul hadn't dropped them all in it.  
"They ... er ... they know it's me marrying Paul, do they?"  
John needed to check. Paul was otherwise so ditsy about certain things.  
He heard the matron chuckle.  
"Yes, they do. Caused a few raised eyebrows but not as many as you might think. We have a surprisingly youthful outlook on life from some of our residents."  
John nodded, realised the matron couldn't see him, and murmured some agreement.  
"They are very fond of Paul, y'know. All of them. It's been wonderful that he's been able to carry on working here, and he's been telling us all about the wedding. It will be the occasion of the year for many of our folks."  
John felt a warm glow. How could he have been prepared to refuse this to Paul? The young man had simply swept all those old people up and offered them a magical day.  
In fact, John mused, they probably meant more to Paul than his own absent family.

"I shall borrow the fold-up chairs from church" Mimi announced grandly.  
Lots of old people who all needed looking after. She could feel her fingers itching to start.  
John glanced at her sideways. "You, erm, don't mind then?"  
"Mind? John, how could I mind forty two elderly people having a wonderful day at my nephew's wedding. What a thoughtful fiance you have. I hope you appreciate him."  
Now it was John's turn to blink bemusedly.

"Sixty one."  
Paul tapped a forefinger on the paper. "Sixty two, John. We have the matron coming too."  
"And who was it who wanted a quiet wedding? Just the two of us? Run away and get married, eh?"  
Paul ignored him.

The hospital check up took just as long as the previous one. Paul was glad of John's company. Glad, too, that John did not once refer to last week's missed appointment. Neither did any of the specialists he needed to see.  
Except ... who was Dr. Inman?  
He tried to ask John but John seemed annoyingly vague.  
"Dunno. Have to wait and see. Look ... do you know how to do that?"  
John was pointing at a poster. How to place someone in the recovery position.  
Yes, he did. His mam had shown and told him things like that.  
"It doesn't say what it's for."  
"Hmm? Oh, well, wait till you see him."  
Paul nibbled a fingernail.  
He didn't like the unknown. It made him nervous.  
It was the penultimate appointment.   
John was humming some nondescript tune. It wasn't really a tune, Paul decided. It wasn't in any particular key, had a weird rhythm, and more than that seemed devised to prevent John from talking.  
'Mental Health' said the signposts. Dr. Inman's name was listed with two other doctors.  
A chill ran through Paul and he spun on his heel and started to head in the opposite direction.  
He only made two paces before John caught his arm, yanking him back.  
A couple sitting waiting glanced up, relieved to have something ease their boredom.  
"Paul" John hissed " what y' doing?"  
Paul's fingers were trembling. He could feel them dithering on John's arm.  
"I .. I don't need to be here. It must be a mistake ..." he tried to stop his voice from wobbling too.  
"He's on your list" John insisted.  
Two pairs of eyes were following the dialogue.  
Paul drew himself up "Well, it must be a mistake." He sounded far more in control than he felt.  
"Who are you expecting to see?"  
The woman who was sitting with her son? relative? looked at them in a friendly way, her eyes curious.  
"Dr. Inman."  
"No one."  
Paul and John spoke at the same time.  
Her gaze became even more curious.  
"This is Dr. Inman's clinic. He always does Tuesdays. My son (ah, son, then, John thought) has been under him for a while." She smiled broadly at Paul, having singled him out as being the one in need of attention. "He's very nice. A good listener."  
Listener?  
Paul's heart gave a jolt.  
He had to talk?  
No way.  
No fucking way.  
He determinedly headed in the exit direction again.  
"Paul!"  
John grabbed his arm, almost pulling him off his feet.  
He wished those people would stop watching them.  
He tried again. "Paul, look, just see the guy. He's expecting ..."  
To John's surprise and alarm he saw tears spring to Paul's eyes, though he pushed them back down.  
"There's nothing wrong with me, John."  
Was there no privacy in the N.H.S?  
He tried to tug Paul round the corner, to a couple of blue plastic chairs that were almost out of sight. Unceremoniously he shoved Paul onto one, and sat next to him, shielding the younger man from prying eyes.  
"Paul ..."  
Paul shook his head. He couldn't trust his voice.   
Mental Health.  
They thought he was a nutter. A loony. A mental case.  
All the things he used to worry about being piled up in front of him.  
Angrily he swept his finger under his eyes.  
"I don't need .. " his voice broke.  
John's hand was steady on his arm.  
"He might be able to help you."  
"I don't need helping, I'm alright. You said I was alright. When I asked you, you said ... you .. said .."  
"Paul McCartney?"  
Paul shot to his feet, and John seriously thought he was going to run.  
A young nurse, around Lottie's age, a friendly smile, holding a slip of paper.  
"Dr. Inman will see you now."  
The other couple were still watching in silent curiosity.  
Paul swallowed nervously and nodded.   
After all, even if he went in, he didn't have to speak.  
He could pretend he was dumb.  
Or foreign.  
Didn't speak English.  
"Can I go with him?" he heard John ask.  
A gentle smile, a shake of the head.  
"I'm sorry, but these sessions need to be conducted in private."  
The glance Paul shot at John anyone would have thought he was going to the gallows.

John seated himself a few chairs away from the curious couple. He didn't want to indulge in small talk.  
At this precise moment in time he was feeling like a cad.  
"He's a specialist in mental trauma" Ritchie had said. He'd paused, and added. "Nice guy. See him in the staff canteen somedays."  
John stretched out his legs and surveyed the tips of his Vans which were looking a bit grubby.  
He hoped Paul would talk.  
He knew he wouldn't.  
John carried on humming that same keyless, rhythmless tune.  
Paul's birthday next week.  
What could he get him?  
Twenty six paving slabs?  
John snickered at his own joke, then felt guilty all over again.  
He got lost in his own head, thinking about the wedding preparations, about their guest list, about the Care Home and the matron and Sean and Tom and Steve who still checked every other day on how Paul was doing, and Stu, who was hoping to do the photography for them, and the food Mimi was planning, and ...  
"...an appointment for next week. Do you have anyone with you?"  
John glanced up.  
Paul was looking at him, desperation plastered across his face.  
Oh ... it probably hadn't gone very well then.  
John stood up. "I'm with him."  
His voice sounded disembodied and John winced.  
The doctor was tiny, little goatee beard and wispy white hair, enormous eyes that looked twice their size behind thick glasses.  
His smile was warm.  
"Ah, you are this young man's escort he mentioned then." Escort? So Paul must have said something, then, even if only one word.  
"I'd like Paul to make another appointment for next week, same day, and we'll take it from there."  
Take what where?  
The doctor had turned to the curious waiting couple though.  
"Joshua, lovely to see you. Come and tell me about your week."  
The door closed behind them.  
Paul leaned against John, hiding his face somewhere at the junction of John's neck and shoulder.  
John reached round, trying to pat him awkwardly.  
"Hey, you okay?"  
He heard a sniff. Was that a yes or no?  
"Last appointment now, yeah?"  
Another sniff.  
"Paul?"  
"You need an appointment for next week, then, yes?"  
That lovely nurse was there again, blithely ignoring the fact that Paul had buried himself on John's shoulder.  
John nodded. "Er, yeah ... he does."  
Blimey, she'd make a good actress the way she just carried on regardless.  
"Will the same time be okay or would you like earlier or later?"  
Bloody hell, this was gonna affect work again. John tried to work out the difficulties.  
"And will you be accompanying?"  
Well unless I physically tow him here he won't come, John thought.  
"Er, yes. What's the chance of first thing? In the morning? Come on our way to work?"  
Blinking slightly, the nurse soon plastered a clear smile on her face.  
"I'll go and check, shall I?"

"So how did he get on with Dr. Inman?" Ritchie enquired as soon as he got home.  
John could only shrug.  
Paul had, otherwise, been discharged. Fit as a fiddle, had been the consensus.  
Who said a fiddle was fit? And why a fiddle?  
"No idea, Ritch. He's not said a word. Bit traumatised over having to go see him."  
"Ah" Ritchie deflated.  
He knew the doctor and had heard good reports. Maybe, if Paul could talk ...  
"Has he said anything?" Ritchie asked hopefully.  
John shook his head. "Uh huh. We only got in ten minutes ago ... I was just gonna make us a cuppa. He seems a bit knackered, to be honest. He went straight upstairs. D'you want a cup?"  
"Oh!" Ritchie's eyes widened. "Oh, right. Well, yeah, I will have a cup, please. Lottie doesn't finish till seven so I was gonna make us a meal for about eight. That okay with you or did y' wanna eat earlier?"  
John grabbed an extra mug off the drainer. "If it's no problem, Ritch, we'll eat with you. I just wanna spend a bit of time with Paul ... see if I can get anything out of him."  
"Hmm. D'you think Dr. Inman did?"  
"Your guess is as good as mine. He wants to see him again next week though. He's got an appointment for next Tuesday morning. The doctor said something about taking it from there. Dunno if that's good or not."  
John ruminated over that fact.  
Paul had been silent on the journey home. The whole reason John had gone for a bus and not walked was because he was worried Paul was shattered from it all. He itched to  
know what had gone on but Paul hadn't been forthcoming. Just spent the bus journey leaning against John on a very crowded bus with his eyes distant and clouded.

Entering the bedroom with a couple of mugs in his hand John saw Paul shift suddenly from his position on the bed, squirming around. Something was shoved swiftly out of sight under a pillow. John feigned ignorance.  
"Paul, tea. Ritchie's cooking for a bit later. That okay?"  
There was a mute nod, Paul's gaze having switched to fix on the small window of their bedroom overlooking the backyard.  
Twenty six paving slabs.  
He'd always remember that.  
John placed the mugs down on the bedside table and perched next to Paul, anxiously scanning the silent figure. Bright June sunshine streamed through the window, lighting every shaded corner ... nothing was hidden. Neither were the faint tear tracks down Paul's cheeks. John was gutted.  
"Paul ... love .. talk to me. What's wrong, eh?"  
Paul's fingers gave a twitch and John realised he was still holding a pencil. Obviously he'd been writing in his notebook.  
John ran a thumb along the rounded cheek and Paul jumped, turning to him.  
"What's the matter? Tell me?"  
There was a puff of a sigh, a flutter of lashes, and Paul raised a hand .. the one holding the pencil, that he looked at for a moment in astonishment, having forgotten why he had it ... to scrub his eyes. They felt gritty, tired. He felt gritty and tired and ... down. So low. He didn't want to feel like this. He'd tried reminding himself of all the things he should be glad about ... not least of all their impending marriage .. but ..  
"He wants to talk about what happened." Paul's voice was small, lost almost. He swallowed. He didn't want to talk. He couldn't talk coherently anyway. It was just one mass of confusion that could have lasted days, weeks or years. He had no idea.  
"Well, Paul ... " John tried to take a pragmatic approach " it might help to ..."  
"They think I'm mad."  
John stopped mid-sentence. How to deal with this?  
"No, they ..."  
"They do, John. They sent me to a shrink."  
"He's not a shrink, Paul, he deals in mental health ... mental issues ... people who .. who .."  
"Are fucked up like me."  
John shook his head vehemently. "Paul, you are not fucked up ... well ... at least ..."  
Paul's smile was wry, not touching his eyes. "Y'see ... " he tried to chuckle but it came out sounding strangled. He scrubbed viciously at his eyes again with the heel of his hands, angry at himself. Angry that he couldn't seem to control his emotions. Hold himself together. That niggling fear he had that John would get fed up of him if he kept breaking down every few minutes over little simple things.  
But, then again, Dr. Inman hadn't been a 'little simple thing'.  
He'd been Paul's worst nightmare in normal clothing.  
"I'm here to help you, Paul" had been his words.  
They were words Paul didn't want to hear.  
How much did this guy know?  
And, if he knew, who had told him?  
How many people knew about him?  
In Paul's head it exploded from a few to possibly hundreds.  
Hundreds of eyes looking at him, knowing.  
"Talking things through can help" the doctor had said.  
Paul had been too polite to object. He'd simply clamped his mouth shut and refused to talk.  
Dr. Inman had intuitively recognised a problem.  
This young man would be uncooperative.  
Unwilling.  
Or unable?  
To talk.

Paul's emotions were running high. John could feel the tremors running up and down the body like a tightened, strumming string.  
"He's there to help you, Paul.."  
"I don't need help." Paul's reply was swift, catching the end of John's words.  
Paul scrubbed his eyes again.  
For Christ sake, why did they keep watering?  
Paul took a deep breath, made himself look as calm as he possibly could, and turned to John.  
"I'm not going back next week."  
John blinked, concerned. "You have an ..."  
"No one can make me. YOU can't make me."  
Paul was surprised at his own temerity but dug himself in.  
"Give it a couple of days, Paulie ..."  
Paul winced at the nickname. It was how one would soothe a petulant child. Was that what John thought he was?  
Petulant.  
Awkward.  
Difficult.  
Mental.  
Two fingers and a thumb found their way into Paul's mouth and he chewed at the ragged skin.  
John's arm slipped around his shoulders and he leaned in, glad of the comfort.  
"'mnotgoingback.." he mumbled from behind his fingers.

George took a deep swig of his pint, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and looked seriously at John.  
Seriously.  
That was the word.  
It was rare to see George without one of his enormous smiles.  
They'd met up to discuss the wedding, him and George.  
To tie up any odd ends.  
Inevitably, they'd ended up talking about Paul.  
Who wasn't with them because he was doing an extra rehearsal at the Care Home.  
It turned out the choir were going to sing more than "My heart still goes on."  
In fact, John had a feeling it was going to turn into a musical.  
"Why should Paul talk if he doesn't want to."  
George's words dragged him back into consciousness.  
Dark eyes challenging him to come up with an answer.  
George was just so protective of Paul.  
John rolled George's sentence around his head.  
Why should Paul talk if he didn't want to?  
Because everyone thought it would be good for him? Therapeutic? Cleansing?  
And who was everyone?  
Was he everyone?  
Did he think it would help?  
Paul had had a nightmare that Tuesday night ... well, early hours of Wednesday morning really.  
First time for ages.  
Shifting in his sleep, murmuring and muttering, his body sweat drenched.  
John had pulled him round, got him a glass of water, tried to settle him.  
His eyes had looked haunted.  
George waited for a reply. He could wait. He had endless patience.  
"Everyone seems to think it would help him" John replied, a shade of doubt in his voice.  
"And who is everyone?"  
Just what he'd thought. Who is everyone.  
"Do you know what I think?" George leaned forward, his voice conspiratorial.  
John shook his head dumbly.  
"I think everyone should just get the fuck out of Paul's life and stop advising him what he needs to do. They aren't him. Just let the guy alone to sort himself. His way might not be your way, or my way, or any specialists' way, but it's his way. His life. He just needs support, that's all. People should stop pestering him." George leaned back, calming his voice down. "Paul can't remember half of what went on, and doesn't want to either. It'll be like stirring up the silt that's settled at the bottom of a pool. Just let well alone."  
John was torn.  
Yes, fifty percent of his mind accepted that logic.  
The other fifty percent said Paul needed professional help.  
He just wanted to do whatever was best for Paul.  
George could see the doubt in John's face. Sense the division.  
"Just take a step back from it all" George advised.  
"What do I do about next Tuesday's appointment?" he implored.  
George shrugged. "What will be will be."

"No!"  
Sean was emphatic.  
He'd rung to let John know how things were progressing. Or at least give him an idea without releasing too much information. Information that Sean privately thought John would find too much to cope with.  
John blinked at Sean's emphatic response.  
"No?"  
Sean knew things. Too many things. Too much of what had gone on. He couldn't share this information with John. It would be too heavy a burden for the young man to bear.  
"No. Definitely not."  
John was surprised and ... curious. Sean's response was so certain.  
He knew there'd been hope amongst some of the officers on the case that Paul might talk, but here was Sean, one of the most invested in the whole scene, defying that.  
"I .. I thought that .."  
"We won't be coming to Paul for any details. He will be kept out of the proceedings completely."  
Sean's tone didn't allow for any questions.  
John didn't ask why.  
His stomach gave an uncomfortable churn, but he didn't ask why.  
He didn't want to know.  
Sean didn't want him to know.  
That was obvious.  
It left a question mark bigger than the solar system itself in John's mind.  
He squeezed his eyes shut.  
It was a question mark that would have to remain.  
Probably forever.  
"He .. he has an appointment" John's voice sounded faint " on Tuesday at 8.40 with ..."  
"I will go. I will go in his place and I will explain why he is not able to be there. There won't be any more appointments issued."  
"Sean?"  
"Don't ask me, John. Don't ever ask me."  
"What do I tell Paul?"  
"Tell him whatever you want. Tell him Dr. Inman has gone to work in a leper colony. Tell him he's decided to fulfil a lifelong ambition and become an astronaut. Tell him anything. Then just drop the subject. I don't think Paul is likely to query it."  
John leaned against the parlour door, his legs wobbly.  
"Is it? ..."  
"We are just keeping your boyfriend safe. And giving him the chance to pick up his life again. That's all. Nothing else. As far as you and Paul are concerned, that's all."  
"No .. no comebacks?"  
Sean's voice softened. "No comebacks, John. But some are going to pay."

John told Paul his appointment had been cancelled.  
Paul looked relieved, then curious, then concerned.  
"When's it been moved to?" he asked, nibbling the edge of a fingernail.  
He hoped next year .. or two years .. or .. never ..  
"Never."  
Paul blinked, caught. Had the thought popped outside his head somehow and verbalised itself?  
John gave a tentative smile. "Never, Paul. They don't think you need to go."  
Relief flooded Paul's face.  
"They don't? They think I'm okay?"  
John lied smoothly.  
He'd lie his way to hell and back to keep this guy happy.  
"Yeah, they think you're okay."

 

 

 

"


	47. Chapter 47

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a bit of a filler chapter covering the week or so before the wedding so it's just .. a bit ... dull, I think.  
> Thanks to everyone for following this. I love reading all your comments.

"Ten tea towels, six dishcloths, four scourers, one washing up liquid."  
John read the neatly written out list that was sellotaped to the carrier bag to himself, an eyebrow quirking in amusement. He moved on to the next carrier bag. It was much larger.  
"Duvet cover sets ... double. Two. One double duvet." And the bag next to it. "Four pillows, medium firm, two sets of two."  
John squatted back on his heels and regarded the slowly growing pile that Paul had been accumulating up one corner of their bedroom. It had been a small stock at first but was now intruding into their living space. A large Ikea bag took up a great deal of space. John fingered the label thoughtfully.  
"Set of cutlery .. half a dozen of each. Four dinner plates, four tea plates, four dishes, six drinking glasses ... half pint ... four wine glasses .. one frying pan, large, one frying pan, small, set of three saucepans, small, medium, large." John tentatively tried lifting this bag. Apart from being quite heavy it rattled in an alarming way and John hoped Paul had wrapped everything carefully. His fingers turned over a label on a very bulky bag. "Towels" he read " Two bath, two medium, two hand, two flannels ... need more."  
The tag dropped from his fingers as he heard Paul open the door.  
"What y'doing?"   
John grinned up at his partner from his position on the bedroom floor. "Just checking out what you've acquired. Quite the little housewife, aren't you?"  
Paul went pink and muttered a "fuck off" under his breath, but inside he was chuffed. He'd steadily been squirelling away all the items he knew they'd need. He knew they'd need them because Jacob had helped him do the list. And in a couple of weeks all this would come into use when they moved into the flat. He had a quiet certainty that whatever they needed, or whatever John asked for, he would be able to put his hand on it ... except ...  
"Wine opener."  
John's eyebrows raised.  
"What?"  
Paul chided himself. He must stop this habit of blurting out what was in his mind. "We .. er .. we need a wine opener. Bottle opener. I haven't got that yet."   
John observed him fondly as he got to his feet. "Plenty of time for that. Anyway, I can use me teeth if .."  
"No, John." Paul batted him ineffectually. "Definitely not."  
John swiftly caught Paul's wrists and yanked him in for a brief kiss which went on and on and ....

Later, running his thumb down Paul's naked side, watching the lad shift reluctantly from ticklishness, John rifled his nose in the dark locks.  
"So ... have we got everything then?"  
Paul was caught on the edge of dozing off, which he always did after a good sex session, and struggled to catch up with John's train of thought.  
"Everything?" he queried lamely. His mind was shooting off in different directions ... not least the twenty six paving slabs which John seemed to resurrect regularly in their conversation. Paul had a sneaky feeling .. but hoped he was wrong .. that John would find a way of inserting it into their wedding service.  
"Yeah. Y' know ... " John jerked a thumb in the direction of the bags in the corner of their room but Paul's attention had been caught by John's arm ... it looked so .. sturdy .. and safe .. and the reddish hairs that covered it, freckles nestling comfortingly beneath them .. and ... and ...  
Paul chewed his lip.  
The arm that he'd been scrutinising came to rest around his naked waist, and Paul pushed gently back into the hold it provided. He sighed contentedly, letting his eyes slowly close.

John had been round to visit Mimi earlier, towing a reluctant Paul with him.  
It was fairly obvious that she'd positioned Paul carefully near the door and out of reach of anything breakable. From this prime position he eyed John worriedly.  
"So, everything is arranged. I'm borrowing sixty fold-up chairs from St. Peter's ... there's nothing going on in the church hall that night so no one will miss them. And the long range weather forecast is good."  
She cast a careful glance at Paul who was sitting rigidly straight in the upright chair, hands clasped together between his knees, a slight air of anxiety permeating his figure, like an early morning mist over the Mersey.  
"Do you have everything in order John?"  
John blinked at the abrupt question. This marriage was being run like a military operation.  
"Er, yeah, Mims, everything's cool."  
She frowned at the colloquialism but let it pass.  
"So I assume you are spending the night before here with me?" It was more of a statement than a question.  
A tiny strangled sound came from Paul but when two pairs of eyes swivelled to look at him it didn't appear that he'd moved.  
John's eyes swung back to meet Mimi's. "Here?"  
Mimi stiffened at his tone. "It's not a prison, John. It is traditional that the bride and groom spend the night before in their respective homes and not together" she explained primly, her lips pursing.  
Yup, there was definitely a squeak from Paul, John reckoned. He smiled reassuringly at his partner before turning back to Mimi.  
"We, er, don't have a bride, as such, Mimi. In case you haven't noticed."  
That was of no consequence to Mimi Smith.  
"It is immaterial, John" she waved her hand haughtily " the principle is the same. You cannot spend the night before with Paul."  
Paul was starting to panic. Even if he'd not budged an inch John could read it in his eyes.  
"Yeah, well, we're not a normal wedding, are we." John put his twopennorth in quickly.  
"That doesn't matter, John. It is just not done. Surely Paul can spend the night with your friend or ... or ... " she struggled to recall the name of their best man " or George."  
George. John latched onto that. He looked over at Paul, who was eyeing him anxiously. John could hardly think of a night they'd spent apart since Paul had been released.  
Released. Oh God. What a minefield. A wedding attended by probation officers and police officers and ... John gulped. He'd get round that somehow. One thing at a time.  
He smiled across at Paul. "Well, I guess it would be nice for you to stay with George the night before. Nice for George too. Just like old times' sake, eh?"  
Oh fuck! He'd just put his foot right in it.  
He saw Paul's eyes widen.  
"No, what I mean is ... it'll be good, yeah? For George? To have you there? Nice for him .. or ... or ... I guess you could both spend the night at Ritchie's and .. well, maybe go out for a drink, and ... and ... " now he was floundering and his aunt was looking at him wide eyed too.  
"Oh fuck!" he said.

He felt Paul's hand slip into his, the action invisible to observers between their two bodies as they walked to the bus stop.  
"It'll be okay, Paul" John was saying. "You'd be okay with George."  
It seemed unimaginable to Paul that he should spend a night apart from John. He couldn't begin to visualise it.  
"But .. but .. " But he couldn't ... how could he? Knowing that John was a few miles away ... and ...  
He felt John squeeze his fingers.  
"Mimi is a bugger for propriety" John said.  
Paul swallowed the word down. Doing things right. In the proper order. The proper way. He pushed away his misgivings. Stop being a limpet, he told himself. One night, that was all. Surely he could survive without John for one night? And ... George. It would be nice to stay with George. Homely. Comforting. Paul's mind drifted. Okay, so he'd probably have a distinct aroma of Indian spices about his person when he stood next to John at the altar, but what the heck?  
He nodded silently and leaned in a little more to John as if to remind him that, yes, he'd do this, but it would be reluctantly.

Slowly but surely it seemed to John that the threads were all drawing together. Mimi had the reins in her hand over their reception and would not be letting go. He had every confidence in her that it would be planned to the nth degree and would be successful. The rings had been purchased and were safe in George's possession. Paul seemed to have collated most of the things they needed when they took over from Jacob and Rob on the Monday after their wedding. It was an exciting time with lots of things happening. Sometimes too much happening for Paul who could only cope with things in small doses. He was finding it all rather overwhelming and occasionally, although he wouldn't tell John as much, still had the urge to run away to Gretna Green and marry and avoid so much kerfuffle. Fortunately George could foresee these worries and stepped in to take Paul out for a drink a couple of times, just to allow him to voice ... or not, as the case may be ... his concerns. Just sitting with George and a pint in his hand allowed Paul to relax and take a step back from all the activity, and for that both John and Paul were grateful.  
"A honeymoon planned?" someone asked.  
John shook his head.  
The day after their wedding Jacob and Rob were throwing a leaving party, and John and Paul were moving in the following day. They'd planned to close the shop that Monday just to give them chance to get straight.   
But, nonetheless, John glanced over at Paul, who was sorting his music ready to start the evening's teaching, knowing that, deep down, he'd love to take Paul somewhere. Anywhere. The lad had hardly ever been out of Liverpool, unless you counted the detention centre at Warrington. John sighed audibly, and felt Paul glance over at him. Well ... there'd probably be plenty of time ahead of them to go away ... except ... well ... they now had a business to run. Exciting thought but what a commitment! John had a feeling that days off would probably be in short supply. And what did they do if they wanted to go away? If he wanted to surprise Paul with a holiday ... even if only to Blackpool for a weekend? They'd have to bring in temporary staff, wouldn't they? And the risk that involved, and the hassle.... suddenly running his own business didn't look as inviting as it had when Rob first suggested it.  
"Y'okay?" It was a warm whisper into his ear. John turned, startled. He hadn't noticed Paul had moved and was now at his side.  
John huffed out a little breath. "Yeah, just ... suddenly feeling a bit overwhelmed at the thought of running this business. Odd bits I'd not thought about before. Y'know, the kind of things that never enter y' head ..." John frowned.  
"Such as?" Paul queried. He looked remarkably untroubled.  
"Well, like ... if we wanted a day off ... you and me. How would we do that? I mean ... it's a big commitment, innit? Making this pay, always being here .."  
He felt Paul catch his hand. "We'll do it. We'll manage. I bet there's someone out there who might like to work here too, even if only part-time. Lots of people are looking for work, John. I mean ... Rob got you, didn't he? An' what about Stu ... " Paul swallowed down the lump he always felt in his throat whenever he mentioned what he privately thought of as John's ex .... he had no idea what relationship Stuart and John had had and pride and a tiny bit of him that didn't really want to know prevented him from asking ... " I mean .. artists don't always make much money, do they? Or they starve in garrets or something ... " John was looking wide eyed and speechless at this rather new Paul who was conniving " ... he might be glad of the odd shift at the shop. Could always pay him cash in hand ... or ... " Paul coloured, realising that was against the law "or not ... I mean ... do it properly ... if we do. I can find out."  
John smiled. A genuine warm smile. He pressed a swift kiss to the side of Paul's lightly stubbled jaw. "Excellent plan. I bet there's others we know too that might be willing to stand in for the odd shift."  
Paul nodded, secretly wondering where had he dug all that up from and why the fuck had he come up with Stuart? Did he have a death wish or something?  
As if John sensed Paul's insecurities he leaned in and gave another kiss. "You are an amazing boyfriend, y'know."  
Paul's face lit up with a big smile.  
"We'll manage, Johnny" he said.

"So, Mimi is seeing to all the catering, so we don't even have to think about that ..." John waved his hand dismissively in the air, the other hand clutching his third pint of lager. He was beginning to feel slightly inebriated ... but only a little. In a nice way. He was trying to sum up where they had got to in their planning as they sat in the late evening sunshine outside of a local pub that boasted a beer garden ... translate that as cobbled back yard with a few pots of climbing plants. But it was good to be there, sharing a drink with Ritchie and Stu and Lottie and George ... and, of course, Paul, pressed close to him on the peeling wooden bench. He could feel the weight of Paul's body, the heat radiating off him on this warm evening, and the smell ... John sniffed ... he loved the smell of Paul. Could never pin down what it was, but it caused a warm feeling in his groin.   
"And I'm doing the photography ..." Stu put in with a grin.   
John included him in the next wave of his hand ... " ... and Stu is doing the photography ..."  
He felt Paul shift next to him, a tiny nudge. He flexed his knee to nudge back. 'Stop worrying' the nudge said.  
"Whose doing the flowers then?" Lottie asked.  
Paul glanced up, surprised. Flowers? Didn't they just ... happen?  
"A friend of Mimi's knows someone that goes to St. James and she's offered to decorate the church and do the buttonholes for us. She's coming to the wedding as a thank you ... " John turned to find Paul was practically sitting in his lap, and pulled back, surprised. " That makes sixty four" he whispered theatrically into the dark hair.  
Sixty four? Oh! Paul ran the figure round his tongue. It had a good ring to it. It was divisible ... one could do a lot with sixty fo ..  
"...aren't they, Paul?"  
Everyone was looking expectantly at him.  
Shit.  
What had he been asked?  
And in front of Stu too?  
John's knee nudged him. "Just saying .. the care home choir are providing the music. Aren't they, love."  
Paul's cheeks flushed a lovely shade of pink and he nodded, his eyes suddenly meeting Stu's.  
Emotions were swirling in there. Paul looked closer. Envy?   
Was Stu envious of him?  
He shifted a little nearer to John and John gazed at him in surprise. He couldn't budge up any more .. he was already squashed against the armrest.  
"And of course George has the rings ..." John announced it triumphantly and the others, all except Paul, raised their glasses and let out a "Yayyyy".  
George's beer splashed everywhere in his enthusiasm and Lottie quickly dodged it before it landed on her new summer dress.  
"What you doing about music after? Y'know, at the reception?" Stu enquired, half an eye still on Paul.  
It was almost as if they were sizing one another up.  
Ritchie sat up straight. "Me an' Paul have compiled a list. Gonna put them on an MP3 player an' borrow an outfit from Jake at work."  
John's eyebrows raised and he turned to look slowly at Paul.  
"You never said?"  
Paul squirmed and shifted away along the bench. "Didn't think you'd mind" he mumbled before sinking his teeth into one of his fingers and nipping savagely.  
John elbowed him. "Course I don't mind. What you put on it?"  
"It's a surprise, John" Ritchie said.  
John slipped his free arm round Paul's shoulders and pulled him back close to his side.   
"I like surprises ... I think" he added doubtfully.  
Paul elbowed him back.  
Stu watched their interaction, his brow furrowed. When he saw Paul's glance fall on him, he ducked his head, switching his glance.  
"I ... er, I ... ah ..."  
They all turned to look at him. Stu gathered his scattered thoughts together, and cleared his throat.  
"Was just gonna say ..." he studiously avoided Paul's dark eyes " erm ... Astrid .. my girlfriend, y'know" he added for the benefit of anyone who might not " she, er ... her college finishes next week an' she's coming over." He turned to face John. "She's a much better photographer than me. I was gonna ask her ... hope y' don't mind ... if she'd do your photography. She'd do an awesome job."  
John blinked, startled. He'd been shown some of Astrid's work and Stu was right, it was good. Arty and aesthetic in simple black and white.  
"Wow .. well, yeah. We don't mind, do we Paulie?" He gave Paul's shoulders a quick hug. "Will she do them like you've shown me? Y'know, black and white?"  
Stu grinned, showing wolfish sharp teeth. At least, that was how Paul saw him.  
"I guess she'd suggest a mixture. Not every one wants black and white. She'll probably do half and half."  
John mulled it over. "Great. Sounds good. We'd, er, pay her for her time, obviously."  
"Don't think she'd accept, John."  
"Well, at least invite her to the reception. That would be good, eh, Paul?"  
John could see the cogs whirling behind Paul's eyes. "Sixty five?"  
He frowned. What the? Oh, yeah ... number of guests.  
"Sixty five, yeah."  
John didn't see a problem.  
Well, in a way, neither did Paul. It meant Stu would be nicely tied up with his girlfriend and could keep his thieving hands off John, but ... sixty five?  
"Y' can't divide it."  
Paul's words fell into what was a lull in conversation, and everyone turned to look at him.  
He coloured, squirming in his seat, refusing to meet anyone's glance.  
John gave him another hug. "Should have been a Libra, not a Gemini" quipped John.  
Stu gave a snort of laughter, and Paul glared at him from beneath lowered lashes.  
"So ... " George stepped in quickly, feeling Paul's discomfiture " What's on the menu then? For the reception, I mean?"

John had a steady influx of phone calls. Some every day, some most days, some every few days.  
Steve was the every day one, checking on Paul. It was as if the guy couldn't quite let go, John thought, as he assured Steve that yeah, Paul was fine, everything was good, there'd been no lapses, no petit mals, no nightmares or any other such shit. In fact, John thought, running a critical eye over Paul as he spoke to Steve, he looked pretty damn good. He was busy re-stocking some of the shelves and humming as he worked ... always a good sign.

The every few days one was Tom, keeping John updated on how the investigations were going. It sounded to John as if things were nearing a climax, in which case the trial would re-start. Of course that would pose a slight problem as John would be required to attend at least a small part of the court case, which meant Paul would be left on his own to manage the shop. Which, to be fair, he probably could do as long as it wasn't on one of their busier days or across Paul's teaching. Well, cross that bridge when they came to it. They'd just have to get someone in to help ... possibly Stu? John gave a little snort at the thought which he swiftly turned into a cough when he felt Paul's eyes land upon him. After all, it had been Paul's suggestion, but ... the two of them? ... working together? ... John had a feeling not!

The some most days was Sean. John was puzzled over the connection that seemed to have formed here ... had he missed out on something? It wasn't that Sean ever spoke to Paul very much, or indeed that Paul ever replied, but it was as if there was a complicit 'knowing' between them that John found difficult to put his finger on. How, why, when? Sean was always concerned in how Paul was, digging deeper than Steve did. How did he REALLY seem? Sean would ask. Puzzled John would do his best to reply. He had a sneaking suspicion that Sean knew more about Paul than he did ... was maybe keeping things back? He shrugged it off ... no use worrying about it. He assured Sean that Paul was fine, yeah, as in REALLY fine ... yeah, he was eating and sleeping and no nightmares and seemed upbeat and happy. He could hear the relief in Sean's voice and wondered was there something he should be watching out for? Was Paul going to suddenly show a trait he'd not before exhibited? It was on the tip of John's tongue to ask when Sean said "I spoke to Dr. Inman."  
Silence.  
"Oh."  
Should John ask? Was Sean waiting for him to ask?  
Okay. He'd ask. "What did he say?"

Twice .. no, three times ... Sean had picked up the phone to cancel the scheduled appointment at eight thirty that Tuesday morning, then had changed his mind and turned up in Paul's place. Waited on the same blue plastic chairs John and Paul had. Glanced at the same poster showing how to perform C.P.R. that they had. Wondering how to handle this.  
"Paul McCartney?"  
The nurses smile was bright if puzzled but she held on to it as Sean stood up and approached her. Although dressed in plain clothes, as he normally was, nonetheless he carried his identification wallet which he flipped open and showed her as he neared her waiting figure.  
"Sean Mahoney, police officer ... I'm here in Paul's stead to speak to Dr. Inman."  
The nurses professional manner was commendable, Sean thought, as she didn't bat an eyelid.  
"Please come this way, Mr. Mahoney, I'll show you through."

If Sean had thought the nurse showed no surprise, then the doctor's face was even more bland. Not a flicker of astonishment registered. Sean wondered to himself if it was part and parcel of the job.  
The doctor had leaned back in his chair, surveying Sean through thick bottle lens glasses.  
"How can I assist you, Mr. Mahoney?"  
Sean had been surprised at the depth of voice coming from such a small gentlemen.  
But Sean too was a professional albeit on a different branch. He'd looked the doctor square in the eye.  
"I'm here about Paul McCartney."

Their conversation had skirted issues and problems because of patient confidentiality but, just like Sean, the doctor had read more into what Sean didn't say than what he did. He had nodded understandingly when Sean summed it all up with "... we just think now is not the right time. There's a lot about to happen in Paul's life and he can only cope with small amounts..."  
There was a silence, as if the doctor was thinking, his fingers steepled in front of his nose, his eyes thoughtful.  
"You are very protective of him."  
Sean started at the doctor's words.  
Was he?  
He hardly knew the lad.  
But he'd worked on the case.  
Knew what he'd been through, what he'd suffered.  
Clever doctor, hitting on an emotion that Sean didn't even know was there.  
What a revelation.   
He nodded. "Yes, I expect I am."

"They are going to keep it as an open appointment, to be contacted when Paul wants to do it. Which, of course" Sean admitted to John "he never will without a bit of a push."  
"Would it help him, y' think, then?"  
Sean hesitated. At one time he would have said no, but meeting this doctor face to face ... the things the doctor had been able to read without him, Sean, saying ... he was astute. Paul had been through a lot. Sean more than anyone was aware of that. Things that the lad would probably never mention even if he could remember.   
Sean sighed. "I don't know, John. Right now, I just don't know."

They had a wedding rehearsal at St. James' Church a couple of weeks before on a sunny Thursday evening, the air heavy with the scent of honeysuckle that was blooming, busy bees still droning in and out of the flowers.  
Mimi managed to find a way to continually refer to the fact she was an Anglican and belonged to St. Peter's Church every time she had occasion to speak to the minister, who would nod sagely and give a thin smile. At which point she would sniff disapprovingly and then surreptitiously glance around the small church, admiring the well polished glowing wood and beautifully arranged flowers.

Paul was extremely quiet by John's side during the whole of the rehearsal. John glanced at him in concern a few times, worried the lad might be wobbling a bit, but Paul seemed perfectly calm, brow slightly furrowed, dark eyes serious. Then John twigged ... Paul was concentrating. Tryinbg to digest all the instructions that were being given.At one point John felt Paul's fingers twitch and he realised, with a smile, that Paul was probably wishing he could make notes so he didn't forget anything.  
" ... at which you may, if you wish, say something to one another."  
John was pulled back to the present.  
"What?" he blurted out.  
He felt Paul glance at him in amusement.  
"We can say somethinbg to each other, Johnny" Paul whispered quietly.  
John looked in surprise at the minister. "Say something?" he queried.  
The minister smiled. "A few words of your own devising, or a poem, or some memorable prose."  
"Oh." John thought about that. "Ohhh!"  
Yes, he had lots of things he'd like to say to Paul.  
Lots.  
But, just maybe, he'd devise his own.


	48. Chapter 48

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So ... fast heading towards the wedding, which WAS going to be in this chapter but I decided enough was enough and it would all be too ... bulky???? So ... I'm stopping here for now .... bear with me ... I'll update as soon as I can but summer holidays have started and I'm not around very much. Look forward to your comments as always.

They woke to the sound of rain absolutely hammering on their window. Paul raised his head, peering out through a tangle of hair, squinting his eyes in surprise. It had been so nice the last few days and a glorious sunset yesterday evening. Who would have thought it would rain? Maybe it was all in his imagination? He leaned up on his elbow, ignoring the grunt of pain and indignation that sounded from the warm body beneath him. No, it wasn't his imagination. It was definitely raining, and what was more a cool breeze was blowing in through their open window, causing the hairs on Paul's arm to stand up like sentinel soldiers. He shivered involuntarily, and sank back down on to John's chest. Amber eyes were watching him.  
"Y'okay?"  
Paul frowned. "It's raining." It sounded like a personal affront.  
John just smiled and slipped his arm around Paul's waist. "It's what it does sometimes, love, particularly in Liverpool."  
Paul snuggled back down, relishing the feel of John's arm around him. "Better not do it next week."  
John fiddled with a strand of dark hair. "It's okay" he murmured comfortingly "Mimi'll have it all organised. It won't dare rain."

Counting down the days.  
Sometimes panic gripped John. What was he doing, getting married? Him, a rebel. A teddy boy. A hard case. Switching all this persona for domesticity?  
Then he caught sight of Paul in the kitchen determinedly attempting to improve his cooking skills, a tempting smell of peppers and onions frying, and his heart melted.  
"What time's tea, babe?"  
Paul glanced at him, wooden spoon raised, a frown on his face and a streak of tomato puree across his cheek.  
"Er ... not sure. I think I'll know when it's done." Paul didn't sound very confident.  
"What you making?"  
Paul shrugged, muttered something under his breath, and went back to stirring.  
John poured himself another beer. Well, at least that tasted good. He checked his phone. Two new messages ... one from Tom and one from George. Eeny meeny miney mo, he thought .. deciding on George's first.  
"Anything planned for Paul's birthday?" was the first message he opened. Mmm ... Wednesday ... three days away. The message had been sent late that afternoon and John realised that George would probably be starting work now. Nonetheless he sent a swift message back .. "Nowt planned "  
He was going to investigate Tom's message when a reply popped up from George.  
"Are u both in work?"  
"Yes .. should be"  
"Good I'll call in sometime i have a card n pressie for Paul."  
John paused to smile to himself. Why wasn't the world populated by George's?  
"Sounds good Paul be happy to c u "  
"Oke .. sauce simmering got go"  
John relaxed, his mind conjuring up a vision of George with his hair pulled back under a cap and a brightly stained apron on. He swore he could almost smell the spices.

"Fuck! Fuck, fuck, fuck..." a tirade of curses came from the kitchen.  
John glanced over. "You okay?"  
Paul's head popped out, looking surprised. He probably hadn't realised he'd sworn out loud.  
"Yeah, I'm fine. Tea won't be long ... " Paul looked slightly confused, as if he didn't quite believe his own words.  
"Good. I'm starving ..."  
... he looked even more worried at John's words.  
"Decided what to call it yet?"  
A smile broke across Paul's face. "Yeah, actually. It's a cock up."  
John frowned "Cock up?"  
"Uh huh ... play on words, y'know. Cook up? Cock up? Anyway ... " he eyed the bubbling pan warily " ... cock up is probably quite apt."

While Paul returned to cocking up their tea, John glanced at Tom's message. He had a feeling he probably didn't want to read this one ... a churning feeling in his stomach that could have been the beer, hunger or ... dread.  
"Hi John hope all is well looking forward to Saturday fingers crossed good weather. Wrong time for this news I know " John's heart sank " but the trial will re-start on Monday 23 and you need to be prepared to be called. Possibly not the first day but you will be fairly early on in the procedures. Just wanted to give you a head's up. All the best Tom."  
John sighed, and pocketed his phone. Well, he knew it was going to happen. Better sooner than later, really. He didn't want it hanging over his head any longer than necessary or have Paul silently worrying about it.  
"Cock up's ready, John"  
Paul sounded blithe and happy so it couldn't be too bad.  
Everything in good time.

Paul shifted uncomfortably as the duvet was yanked off him, his mind still clouded with sleep. He blinked, struggling to garner his senses, and through sleepy eyes could just make out John standing with a big grin on his face and a mug of tea in his hand.  
"Come on, birthday boy. Time to get up."  
"John ....." Paul whined, reaching behind him, fingers groping in a futile attempt to recover the warmth of the duvet.   
John slapped the wandering fingers away.  
"Come on Sonny Jim ... I've left you as long as I can. Birthday or no we have work to go to ... an' anyway I wanna see you open my pressie."  
Pressie. That caught Paul's attention. He might forget a lot of things but in a cosy tucked away corner of his memories he could still recall John arriving at the hospital with a rapidly melting ice-cream for his twenty second birthday.  
"Is it an ice cream?" he dazedly asked, struggling to sit up. The duvet seemed to be in a complete tangle around his legs.  
John frowned for a moment, puzzled, and then caught up with Paul's wandering thoughts. There was a sad tug at his heartstrings as he recalled Paul's last birthday, and he gave a gentle smile.  
"No, no ice cream this time, Macca ... wakey wakey and you can have a look."  
Paul impatiently shoved his hair out of his eyes and stuck his hand out for the tea mug. Tutting, John gave it to him.  
"Don't forget to say thank you Johnny,"  
"Thank you Johnny" Paul mumbled, his nose already stuck in the mug. Mmm ... John made a good cuppa. He must remember to say thank you properly sometime, without being prompted.  
"And ... pressie" As if by magic from behind his back John produced a slim wrapped package.  
Paul stopped drinking to survey this new wonder, his eyes curious. "For me?" he breathed.  
John nodded. "Well, yeah. It is your birthday, innit?"  
John neatly caught the mug without any tea being spilt as Paul impatiently put it down on the mattress and took the present from John's hands. His heart was rapidly beating, his thoughts whirling, as he tried to recall the last time he'd had a birthday present .. apart from the ice cream. It must have been ... could it have been?? ... his fourteenth birthday? No, no way. Surely he'd had ... Auntie Louise would never had forgotten ... but then ... he couldn't recall .... Even as these thoughts raced through his head Paul tore the paper quickly away to reveal an oblong box.   
"Ohhh!" he breathed, eyes wide, holding it reverently.  
John shook his head in amusement. "Well, open it, then. I haven't just bought you a bloody box, y'know."  
It took a moment for Paul to locate the catch to unlock it, but when he did it opened to reveal a watch nestling in structured folds of silk, a round silver face with a black leather strap. He couldn't take his eyes off it. To Paul it was one of the most beautiful things he had ever seen. Never had he owned anything so ... so ...   
..... He gave a sniffle and wiped his nose with the back of his hand.  
John frowned. "Hey, y'okay? D'you like it?"  
The tea went flying as Paul impulsively slung his arms around John.  
"It's ... it's ... " he hiccuped and heaved and struggled for breath.  
For a second John panicked, thinking he was having an attack or something, then twigged that the lad was simply overcome with emotion. He patted Paul's back encouragingly.  
"There, there" he teased.   
Paul hit him forcefully on his own back, almost knocking John off the bed.  
"Well, take it out, have a look. I had it engraved on the back."  
Scrubbing his eyes fiercely with his fists, Paul sat back up and carefully removed the watch. The supple leather strap felt smooth in his fingers. He gazed for a moment at the watch face as if he had to memorise it, then turned it over. 'Paul, eternally yours, John'.  
Paul's eyes widened even more. "Ohhh" he breathed again.  
Then scrubbed his eyes which kept watering.  
Then knocked the tea over again as he threw himself at John, but it didn't matter, really, 'cos he'd already knocked the mug over once so there wasn't anything left in it ......

"Happy birthday Paul."  
Rob greeted him cheerily as he arrived at the shop.  
Paul was glowing. Rob couldn't think of another word to describe him.  
Positively glowing.  
His smile would have illuminated the whole of Liverpool if there'd been a power cut.  
"Thank you. Look ... look what John got for me."  
Paul thrust his hand under Rob's nose.  
Well ... it had to be the watch. He hoped.  
"A watch! Lovely. Hey, that's gear, that is."  
Paul withdrew his hand but not his smile.  
"I always wanted one" he said.  
Behind him John rolled his eyes.  
But he was chuffed. Chuffed that Paul had loved the gift so much. He'd been taking a chance on it, unsure of what to get the lad but wanting to get him something special. It had been Ritchie who had a penchant for jewellery who'd suggested something like a watch. From that one suggestion it had been a simple step to procure the gift Paul was currently waving at anyone who would like to look.

Paul's cup was truly overflowing when George arrived with a card and a birthday cake he'd made and Rob had shooed them all out of the shop to go for lunch at a nearby pub. Paul didn't think it could get any better than this as he sat in a daze with pizza and beer in the garden where tubs overflowed with brightly coloured flowers and the sun shining. Any conversation George and John were having simply went over his head as he processed the emotions he was experiencing at that particular moment in time, squirelling them away to enjoy later.  
"..... comes to me at the end of the day."  
John was nodding.  
Paul, trying to latch on, felt sure his thoughts must be like butterflies all taking wing at once and he couldn't catch them.  
"So I've got Friday evening and all of Saturday off, which is good of Prem really as it's our busiest time but I didn't want to be working on Friday evening ... I thought it would be nice to take Paul out somewhere for a meal and get an early night ...." George glanced cautiously at Paul, aware he was talking about him in the third person. But Paul's eyes were unfocused, seeing and hearing other things. George understood that. "So ... will he be okay to do that?"  
John glanced at Paul. "Earth to McCartney, earth to McCartney" he said dryly, clicking his fingers in front of Paul's face.  
Paul started, colour flooding his face. "Hmm?"  
"Friday ... after work ... you be okay to head straight to George's? Taking everything you need?"  
Paul's stomach did a somersault.  
It was happening. It was really happening.  
"We're getting married" he stated, eyes wide.  
John's lips turned up at the corners in an amused smile.  
"Certainly are, son. You've got, like ..." John glanced at his watch ".... approximately seventy two hours to change your mind."  
The humour was well lost on Paul. "I'm not gonna change my mind. Never."

"That's my shower gel..."  
"No, it's not, it's mine.."  
"But you got it for me!!"  
"I got it for US Paul. Anyway, it's not as if George won't have one .."  
"But he won't have THAT particular one.."   
At that moment in time nothing was more important to Paul than THAT shower gel which John was determinedly clutching in his hands.  
"Maybe not, but he'll have one."  
"Yeah, knowing George probably some ayurvedic herbal spice one and I'll stand at the altar smelling weird and it'll be all your fault."  
Paul knew he was working himself up into a state. He also knew it was stupid. It was just a shower gel, for fucksake.  
"It's only a shower gel, for fucksake!" John voiced the thoughts in Paul's head as he thrust it at him.  
Paul took it with trembling fingers. He had no idea why he was so worked up but he felt as if someone with a key had tightened all his cogs.  
"I expect you want the toothpaste too ... and the shampoo ... here ..." John swept the whole lot off the shelf, including shaving foam and razors and toothbrush and comb, and piled it all into in Paul's arms. He couldn't grasp them all in time and they clattered to the floor. He squatted down to retrieve them, angrily swiping a finger under his eyes.  
"I didn't mean it like that" he muttered half to himself, half to John.  
"What's going on? What's up with you two?"  
Bewildered, Ritchie appeared in the bathroom, eyeing his two argumentative friends.  
John swept an arm in Paul's direction. "It appears the princess wants all the toiletries!"  
Ritchie was somewhat alarmed at John's sarcasm, and also dismayed by Paul's lack of response from where he remained squatting on the bathroom floor gathering together the items that were dropped there.   
Then he remembered how tetchy he'd got before his wedding.  
He recalled losing his rag at Paul over the lad's interminable questions and declarations of weather forecasts.  
Nerves, he thought.  
Even if they don't realise it.  
"I can loan you some of my stuff, it's not a problem. Not worth getting upset over."  
"Who said I'm getting upset?" John burst out. "All I did was go to pack the fucking shower gel for fucksake."  
Ritchie glanced back down at Paul who had switched to a kneeling position and was having an unsuccessful time trying to pick all his things up.  
"John, I've got one you can have, okay? Here, Paul, let me help you..." Ritchie squatted next to Paul and began collecting the scattered belongings. It didn't take a genius to work out that Paul was upset. Ritchie glossed swiftly over that fact. "So, I assume you each managed to commandeer a suitcase without coming to blows?" He glanced up to see John's annoyed face. He knew what Lennon was like when he got in a mood which, fortunately, wasn't too often now.   
The silence was heavy. Ritchie had locked eyes determinedly with John, challenging him, but at the same time he could feel Paul's eyes upon him too.  
The silence dragged on.  
John looked away, scuffing the toe of his Vans on the lino flooring.  
"We've packed, Ritchie, so ... yeah ... we've each got a suitcase."  
Good. Ritchie breathed a sigh of relief and stood up, his arms full of Paul's razors and shaving foam and mug.  
"Okay. So do you have a toilet bag for these things or do you want to grab a plastic bag?"  
There was a murmured reply from each one of them, not that Ritchie caught any words.  
Neither of them were looking at him either. John's colour was high and he was gazing with what appeared to be deep interest at a corner of the bathroom wall, and Paul was still on his knees, collecting and sorting his things. Finally Paul rose to his feet, his hands full of his stuff. He couldn't possibly take what Ritchie was holding too. His eyes were skittering everywhere except for Ritchie's face.  
"I .. er ... I might need a bag" he murmured softly, anxiously glancing in John's direction.  
"Dunno why you don't just take the bathroom sink and have done with it" John sneered, still not meeting anyone's gaze.  
A flicker of emotion crossed Paul's face but was swiftly cut off to be replaced by a bland mask and he swept majestically out of the bathroom head held high.  
"John, stop it!" Ritchie hissed.  
John looked at him now, face innocent. "Stop what?" he asked aggrieved.  
Frustrated, Ritchie waved his hands around. "You, Paul ... things ... whatever."  
Putting a shocked look on his face John asked "And what have I done?"  
"You're being obnoxious."  
"Oooh ... long word for a Friday."  
"A bastard, then."  
Now John was affronted. "Me? Me? I'm being a bastard when it's him that wants everything? Honestly, Ritch ... "  
"Well, surely you of everyone can understand why Paul wants things ... wants some control over what he's taking. He hasn't had much control so far over his life, has he? And if that makes him picky over little things well that's something you'll have to learn to cope with. It's called married life, son, and it ain't all perfect, so get used to it."  
John's mouth hung open for a moment, quite taken aback. Who'd have thought ... Ritchie, of everyone ... bollocking him ...  
Then John smiled. A full blown sun coming out smile.  
"Sorry Ritch, I just saw red for a moment."  
Ritchie wasn't going to be mollified that easily.  
"Well, you wanna see red with someone, see it with me, not Paul. He needs you, John, and not in that kind of way."  
John let out a sigh and ran his fingers over his hair. He was sure it was still in tufts. It felt like it, although looked okay in the mirror.  
"Think I'm a bit jittery" he admitted. He hadn't thought about it before, but now he had, he realised that .. yeah ... he was.  
Now Ritchie smiled. That he could understand. He softened.  
"Have you got everything packed for your aunt's?"  
John gave a twisted smile. "Well, yeah, nearly. Everything except the fucking shower gel."  
"I've got a spare. You can have it. Got socks, clean underwear, shaving stuff?"  
"What d'you think you are, me mum?"  
"Well, someone needs to make you check. No use realising tomorrow you've no knickers to wear .."  
"..ooohh.."  
" .. and standing bare-arsed at the altar, is it now?"  
John chuckled.  
"And Paul ..." Ritchie trod carefully ".. is he sorted? Does he have everything?"  
John sighed. "Think so, Ritch. He's been making lists all week, either in his head or on paper. He's responsible for the devastation of a forest by now, I reckon."  
"Okay. Let's go and get you a shower gel then. Not easy, is it, getting organised like this? I mean, you've got to pack everything for tomorrow but still go and do a day's work, eh? Will Paul be okay getting to George's and staying?"  
John thrust his hands in his pockets. It would be weird parting with Paul at the end of the day. He was confident that George would keep Paul grounded though and have him at the church on time.  
"He'll be fine, I reckon. Just fine."

They left Ritchie's together, each clutching a suitcase.  
"Going on holiday are we?" asked the jovial bus driver.  
Paul maintained a careful distance from John on the bus even though they sat next to each other.  
John rolled his eyes.  
He walked his fingers towards Paul's wrist and Paul shifted imperceptibly.  
He moved his fingers instead towards Paul's shoulder and Paul wasn't left with any maneuvering options. He sat there stiffly as John walked his fingers from Paul's shoulder down to his elbow and on to his wrist, at which point he gave a little wriggle. John leaned in closer to the dark hair.  
"I'm sorry" he breathed quietly in the direction of Paul's ear.  
Paul turned, startled.  
John gave a wry grin. "You can have as much shower gel as you want. It doesn't matter."  
Paul was watching him warily. Was John being facetious?  
Despite a crowded bus John leaned in quickly .. so quickly ... and pecked Paul's cheek.  
Paul's eyes widened.  
"Mummy" said a little child's voice "That man just kissed that other man."  
"SSSH!"  
"But mummy ..."  
"SSSHH ... don't .."  
" .. but mummy .."  
John smiled.  
Paul chewed his lip, then smiled back.  
"Mummy .. mummy .."  
"Come on, we're getting off here .."  
"But mummy ..."

"Parting is such sweet sorrow" quoted John as they said goodbye in front of Retro Records.   
"Daft bugger" Paul muttered.  
Rob slapped them on the back.  
"I assume you do each have the correct suitcase?"  
Paul started, and quickly checked. Relief was evident all over his face.  
"Yeah, yeah, we have."  
John blew a theatrical kiss to Paul as he turned his feet in the opposite direction. Although he would never let Paul know it, he knew he wouldn't relax until he heard from George that Paul had arrived okay. Always there was that anxiety when Paul was out of his sight.  
"I'll be with you in apple blossom time" John began singing in a loud voice.  
Paul rolled his eyes, his cheeks colouring.  
With a final wave, John had gone round the corner.  
Paul clutched his suitcase tightly, if only to calm the butterflies he was feeling.  
"You okay for getting to George's?" Rob enquired.  
Paul started again. He'd almost forgotten Rob was still standing by him.  
"Oh, yeah. Yeah, thanks. I'll .. er ... see you tomorrow."  
Rob's grin was broad.  
"See you at the altar."

So lost in his thoughts Paul almost missed the stop for George's and had to scramble for his suitcase. He swung off the bus and took a moment to get his bearings. Certain landmarks would bring a rush of memories, some good, some bad. He wasn't sure what he would file George's area under, other than he'd spent a year and a half living here. It did, however, bring back memories of Luke and his previous life. Pausing on the crowded street with people cutting a swathe around him, Paul glanced at some of the sights. The paper shop ... often open until late. The chippy on the corner. The night he'd arrived at George's he'd passed that and it had still been open and serving. The night he'd arrived at George's .... the night he'd arrived ... Paul stopped abruptly, his feet unable to move any further as the ground tilted underneath him.  
"Oof ... sorry, love" a warm voice apologised. Paul hadn't even noticed the woman collide into him as he'd halted amongst a crowd of home-time travellers on the busy street. He was too busy coping with the myriad of images playing in his mind.  
"Are you alright?"  
It was the same voice, but distant. Not acquainted with what was going on in Paul's head.  
The woman glanced around, as if hoping to spot someone maybe that could assist, but everyone swarmed on in their own world, anxious to get home, to the pub, to collect children, to shop.  
"Sorry ... I didn't mean to bump into you ... you stopped so suddenly ..." she whittered on, unsure what else to do. The young man had a vague expression on his face, as if he wasn't quite all there. But he didn't look drunk or on drugs, or anything. He was smartly dressed and clutching the handle of a drag along suitcase.  
"Are you lost?"  
If he was, it was in his own head, bombarded by memories that tumbled, one after the other, in unceasing motion. Paul sat down suddenly on the suitcase he'd been pulling, unaware of the impediment he was proving to be on such a busy thoroughfare.  
The woman felt awkward. She couldn't just go ... leave the lad like this. She glanced around again, hopefully, but no one was taking any notice.   
"Oh dear" she muttered to herself worriedly.

George glanced at the kitchen clock again. Seriously, he chided himself, it hadn't even altered. What on earth was he worrying about? Friday night ... busy traffic ... Liverpool city centre was just one massive gridlock until nearly seven nowadays. Not like when he was a child. He heaved a sigh and checked his phone. No message. Really, Paul should have been here by now. It didn't take that long. He'd brewed a pot of tea ready, expecting Paul to knock on the door at any moment. Now it would be stewing and, as George knew from past experience, as did anyone acquainted with Paul, he liked his tea hot. Fresh.   
His phone pinged with a message and George leapt on it quickly, relief flooding his face, quickly followed by dismay. It was from John who'd arrived at Mimi's and was checking had Paul got there okay. Decisions ... decisions ... decisions ... George licked his lips. Should he panic? Should he panic John? Best ignore it, eh? and ... and .. he stood in one fluid movement, easily displacing Gandhi who gave a frustrated miaow, and shoved the phone in his pocket. He'd made a decision ... go and look.

Trouble was .. where to start? He hastily locked his door and turned in a circle, debating. If Paul had got the 194 then he would have got off round the corner, but if instead he'd managed to get the 86 it was up the road and across, near to the chippy. Tapping his toe for a moment, George pondered, then determinedly set off in the direction of the chip shop. Something told him ... something ...  
... but God, it was busy. Particularly near to the chip shop. Was everyone stopping for a traditional Friday fish 'n' chips tea or summat?   
"Oh, sorry, love" George blurted out as he bumped into a McDonald's waitress who was walking with one eye on her phone.  
"Y' wanna watch y' big feet" she shot back in broadest Scouse.  
George shrugged and ignored her. After all, he had apologised, and really, it had been half her fault as well and ... and ...  
George took off faster. It was a woman standing, looking bewildered, and perched on a suitcase next to her, not far from the bus stop, was Paul.  
They kept doing this, didn't they? All of them. Assuming Paul was okay to do certain things and then ...  
"Hi. Everything okay?" George was scanning the woman, Paul, surrounding area, anxiously.  
Relieved eyes fell on him. "Do you know him?"  
"Yeah, he's a friend of mine."  
"I'm not sure what happened ... I bumped into him ... he stopped suddenly in front of me but he doesn't seem quite with it, but no one around is taking any notice."  
Yeah, I can bet that, thought George, looking at the dis-interested faces.  
Then it was as if Paul suddenly switched on.  
Maybe it had been George's voice, or his face.  
Whatever.  
Paul's eyes focused on George, recognition dawning.  
"Oh, hi, George. Can I stop with you for a bit?"

It took George back.  
Almost the identical words Paul had used nearly three years before.  
He smiled reassuringly. "Of course you can, Paul. I was expecting you."  
Paul looked surprised at those words but didn't say anything. He rose gracefully to his feet and took the handle of his suitcase, watching George expectantly as if waiting for the next set of instructions.  
George turned to the woman who'd watched this interaction silently. "Thank you so much for staying with him."  
"That's okay," she glanced at Paul then back to George, lowering her voice. "Is he okay?"  
"He, erm .." George shifted, unsure" he can get a bit confused sometimes."  
A frown appeared on her face. "Well, he shouldn't be out on his own then. Liverpool isn't always a very nice place to be if you're vulnerable. Next time it might not be me that stops ... it could be someone else." With these rather obtuse words she shook her head and took her leave.   
George rolled his eyes, and turned to find Paul watching him.  
It was that intense stare he'd not been subjected to for a while. The kind of stare Paul did when he wasn't sure where he was, who he was, what he was, but had latched on to one familiar figure.  
"You okay?" George asked.  
Paul nodded, a smile crossing his face. "Yeah, I'm good, thank you." It was polite and ... unnatural.  
We do it all the fucking time, don't we, George thought to himself. Underestimate Paul ... or should that be overestimate? Assume he's okay.  
George's phone started ringing, vibrant in the summer evening air, louder than the chatter of passing bodies. Paul was still holding onto that bright smile with an expectant expression. George dug his phone out of his jeans pocket. John. Of course. Who else.  
"Jesus ... about bloody time ... I've sent you three messages an' you've not replied ...." John's voice could clearly be heard and there was a flash of recognition across Paul's face " ... if he's got there yet ???? He left same time as me an' .... "  
"It's okay, John, I've got him. It's okay."  
George couldn't help but hear the enormous sigh that followed. "Thank the fuck for that. Is he okay?"  
George hesitated. How the hell did he answer that question?  
"Er, yeah, he's fine ... we're just at the chippy." Well, that wasn't a lie.  
"Chippy? I thought you said you were ... oh ... oh, right, that's where you were taking Paul, then, is it."  
George laughed, and Paul's face brightened even more, although George had a feeling the lad had not a clue what was going on.  
"No ... no, I meant ... we're just by the chippy."  
John's voice instantly became suspicious. "D'you mean he's only just got there?"  
George was warm. In fact, he felt really hot. Tendrils of sweat trickling down his neck from under his hair.  
"Er ... yeah."  
"What the fuck's he been doing?" Another pause. Another suspicion. "Is he okay?"  
"Yeah, he's ... he's fine. Aren't you, Paul?"  
Paul tilted his head questioningly. "Pardon?"  
George held out the phone so that John could hear Paul's reply.  
"You okay?"  
"Yeah, I'm good, thank you."  
Jesus!


	49. Chapter 49

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well ... this was going to be the wedding but it all rambled on more than I'd intended so ... this is what you've got! Enjoy!

George briefly closed his eyes, gathering his wits together. He never did anything in a rush. Everything was carefully thought out, planned, the wisest action he could manage being the path he would choose. But at the moment he felt harried. He was aware of his phone vibrating in his pocket ... John, again! ... and knew Paul was watching him, awaiting instructions. He could feel the intense gaze on him. A crowded street at half six at night was not the place to be. George counted to five, and opened his eyes. Paul's smile was hesitant. Unsure. At the moment he .. not John ... had to be George's first concern. As the phone rang again George decisively swiped the 'decline' and switched it off. 

He returned Paul's smile, and gave a gentle tug at the lad's jacket sleeve.  
"Come on, let's go home, shall we?"  
"Home?"  
Was it a query? A statement?  
"Yeah, home."  
Paul nodded. "Okay."  
George had the feeling Paul would have, at that point in time, gone anywhere with anyone.   
He kept his grip on Paul's sleeve and urged the young man's feet in the right direction.  
"Just across this street and down a bit ... remember?"  
"Just across the street and down a bit ..." Paul echoed.  
"Are you hungry?"  
Paul frowned. This required thinking about. He wasn't sure he could ... he dug around in his head and came up with a stock answer.  
"I'm good, thank you."  
George shot a sideways glance at him. 'Who are you and what have you done with Paul?' he thought to himself.  
It took only a few minutes to reach George's flat and Paul stood patiently by while George rummaged through his pockets for the key. He'd hoped Paul would say something that showed recognition but, unfortunately, no such thing happened.  
"Here ... let's take your suitcase. Got everything for tomorrow, have you?"  
It was a tentative enquiry, and George held his breath awaiting the reply.  
"Tomorrow?"  
The case was quite heavy ... had Paul put the kitchen sink in as well?  
"Yeah ... " George huffed, hauling it in. How had Paul made the whole thing look light work? " You know .. your wedding."  
"Wedding?"  
Count to five again, George cautioned himself. He placed the case tidily inside the cubby space that had used to be Paul's bedroom, and turned to face him.  
"Yes. Your wedding tomorrow to John."  
"John?"  
Patience ... patience, George cautioned.  
"Yes, John."  
There was a slight crease between Paul's eyebrows but the bright smile held.  
"Not Luke?"  
Jesus! The name jolted George. It fell so easily from Paul's lips. What to do? What to do?  
He tugged Paul across to the settee and gently pushed him down. "I'll make you a cup of tea."  
The frown disappeared. "Cup of tea." Now that he understood.

John threw his phone down on the bed in frustration. He'd half a mind .. no, scrub that .. a full mind to go over to George's and see what the fuck was going on. It was pretty obvious that George had switched it off. Another part of him said to calm down ... let George handle Paul. If anyone could, he could.  
"John" Mimi's voice floated up the stairs, sounding saccharine sweet. She'd been unbelievably nice to him so far. " Tea's ready."  
He wanted to reciprocate. He really did. He softened his voice. "Okay, Mimi, thanks. Down in a sec."  
He picked his phone up again.  
One message. Stu.  
'Be there about 8'  
He was meant to be going for a swift pint with Astrid and Stu. At the moment his head was anywhere but.  
God, but he hoped Paul was okay.  
It wasn't a good sign that George had switched off.  
But, he reassured himself, maybe it did show that he had the situation in hand.  
He sent a swift reply. 'Sounds good.'

"Here y'are" George pressed a mug into Paul's hands and at the same time the cat emerged and took a flying leap onto Paul's lap.  
"Oh! Oh, you have a cat."   
George quickly caught the mug as Paul went to put it down on a table that was no longer there but had used to be. Odd, that ... George had moved the table into the cubby space almost a year ago now.  
"Er, yeah, that's Gandhi, remember him? I had him when you lived here."  
Dark eyes focused on George curiously. "I lived here?"  
George sat down gently by Paul. "Yeah, lived here. You lived here for a year and a half with me."  
Paul's hand stilled on the cat's back as he processed this information. There was a long pause, then ...  
"No, I didn't. I've never lived here."  
George had to know. Just where was Paul, at the moment, in his head.  
"Where do you live, Paul?"  
Paul opened his mouth to reply, then closed it again, unable to find an answer. Confusion crossed his features and he shifted uncomfortably.  
"Who do you live with?"  
Paul blinked, his fingers rapidly stroking the cat's fur.  
"Luke." It was a whisper.  
A chill went through George. Fucking hell.  
What had done this? Caused this? Was it being here again, this area, this flat?  
"Paul, Luke's dead. He was killed in an accident a year ago."  
Paul looked at him then, eyes intense, disbelieving. "No he's not. You're lying. He's not dead. I was there a bit ago. At the apartment."  
George sighed. This was beyond him.  
"Paul, you must listen to me ..."  
Paul was shaking his head.  
".. you stayed here with me. We met Ritchie. Remember Ritchie? And you met John. You've been together for a while now. You're getting married to him tomorrow. That's why you're here, 'cos I'm best man for you both. Remember? Remember Ritchie? And you .. you work at a record shop, and you teach .. you teach guitar and piano, and .. and you worked at the hospital for a while ..."  
George threw everything he could recall at Paul, the last couple of years condensed into a rambling sentence. With each statement Paul's eyes widened.   
"Why are you making this up?" he asked George when he could get a word in as George paused for breath.  
"Making it up? Paul, it's true. All of it."  
There was an uncomfortable silence as the two old friends surveyed each other. The cat arched his back and leapt off Paul's lap, stalking into the kitchen, tail held high.  
George reached for Paul's mug and returned it to his hands.  
"Drink up before it goes cold" he urged.  
Paul took the mug and sipped. Odd flavour. Cinnamon? Some kind of spice? His eyes wandered the flat as he drank, and George kept silent, wondering. Leaving space for Paul to think, to digest.  
After a moment, Paul shifted, and glanced behind him to where the cubby door stood ajar, a frown on his face.  
"That was your room" George said softly "when you lived here. A bit cramped, but you needed somewhere to stay."  
Paul was listening. George knew he was, even if he gave no indication.  
Time was shifting. The earth was tilting.   
The only light in the flat came through the tiny kitchen window, and shadows were creeping. Dark tendrils.  
Paul fingered a soft red throw thoughtfully.  
"I ... I can't remember" Paul admitted, words falling hesitantly into the silence.  
"What's the last thing you can remember, Paul?"  
Paul looked at him in confusion. "Remember?"  
George nodded. "What's the last thing you can remember? Of ... anything, really. Today, yesterday ... a year ago? Five years ago? What's your last memory?"  
"The ice cream was melting."  
George frowned, perplexed. Ice cream? Of everything, ice cream ...  
"He hurt me." The voice was plaintive, switching channels. "He .. he did things .."  
George started, grasping Paul's wrist. He really didn't think he needed the lad going down this path.  
"Tell me about the ice cream, Paul."  
Paul's eyes were rapidly scanning George's face, lashes flickering.  
"I didn't want to ... George, I didn't want to ..."  
"Paul, ssh.."  
".. but he made me. I didn't ... " There was anxiety building in Paul's voice that George wanted to halt before it got any worse.  
"No, we know you didn't. Don't worry, Paul. We know you didn't."  
Paul was looking anxiously at George as if willing him to understand. George became strongly aware that he needed to get Paul from where he was at the moment to the now.  
"Do you remember coming here? Staying here?"  
Paul nervously licked his lips. It wasn't a happy memory. It was confused and dark and roiling.  
"Someone ... someone got me out."  
Yes, George knew that. Who, though? Paul hadn't seemed to know. Who had been brave enough to face Luke Stanton's wrath and simply remove Paul from the situation he'd found himself in? Take away Luke Stanton's toy?  
"I know they did, yeah. Who was it?"  
Paul's eyes were fixed now on the bright poster on the wall. "I don't know. I never saw him before."  
George nodded. "He meant well. He'll have good karma."  
There was another silence, deep and loaded.  
Paul was obviously running things in his mind and George could only hope they were going in the right direction.  
"Do you, er ... want another cup of tea?" He indicated Paul's now empty mug that was clutched in his fingers. While Paul was reasonably?? he hoped, okay, he wanted to at least reassure John with a quick call. Paul was far away, but the question filtered through eventually.  
"Okay." He passed the mug to George. "With the spice in?"  
George frowned. With the spice in? What on earth did Paul mean?

"John" George kept his voice low although he didn't think Paul was listening. The hiss of the kettle boiling covered up George's words anyway.  
Relief was palpable, pouring through the phone. "George .. thank fuck .. what's going ..."  
"Ssh .. I'll be quick. Just making him another cup of tea. He got a bit confused, seemed to slip back in time. Thought Luke was still alive and didn't remember ever living here." George avoided the obvious ... that Paul didn't remember anything else either. John digested the information.  
"How's he now?"  
"We're getting there. Sorry, I had to switch off ... just couldn't cope with you too."  
George felt John's smile. "Yeah, sorry 'bout that."  
"So ... excuse if I don't reply for a bit. He just needs a bit of time."  
"Is he gonna be okay?"  
George glanced at Paul, who was gazing with a furrowed brow at the Indian prints on the wall as if processing his memories.  
"Yeah. Yeah, he will be. He's not gone to sleep, anyway."  
There was a burst of laughter from John. "Small mercies, eh?"  
"Yeah. Gotta go now, but I'll update you soon as I can."

Having made tea for both of them, George perched next to Paul on the settee, nudging the slight figure along a bit to make extra space in a companionable way.  
"Here y' go, mate ... tea with spice." George found that quite amusing. He hadn't put anything extra in the tea when making it ... neither had he with the previous cup, but if Paul thought it had something in it .....  
Paul took it from him with a hesitant smile and George was mightily relieved to see that Paul looked more aware, eyes clearer ..... worried, maybe, but not confused.  
"Are y'okay?" George enquired.  
Paul took a sip of the tea, thinking. He wasn't sure why he was here or how he'd got here, but bits of memory were returning, although not particularly in a chronological order, which made piecing the jigsaw together somewhat confusing.  
"Er, yeah ... think so." He took another sip, watching the cat perform a thorough cleansing ritual on the rug in front of him. Cats were very relaxing. Maybe that's why John .... John ... John!!! .....  
"George, where's John?"  
"He's at Mimi's."  
Teeth, bared in a smile. Scary. Tea in dainty china cups and he always seemed to knock things over ....  
"Mimi's" Paul echoed.  
George tensed for a moment but it didn't seem to be a question. Just an echo.  
"Yeah."  
"Ah, right." Paul's brow furrowed again.  
"And, er ... why am I here?" He asked it apologetically.  
"Well, you and John are getting married tomorrow, and John is staying with Mimi and you were gonna come and stay with me. I thought we'd go out, y'know, for a meal ... just the two of us, and have a bit of a drink, then come back and get an early night. How's that sound?"  
Paul looked somewhat blank. Then panicked.  
"Married?"  
"Uh huh. You're not gonna change your mind, are you?"  
Paul was quiet. Delving deep inside himself for memories. John ... John ...  
"It was your birthday three days ago. John bought you the watch you're wearing." George was gentle, trying to guide Paul's thought processes in the right direction.  
Paul glanced at the watch ..... ' .... birthday or no we have work to go to ... and anyway I wanna see you open my pressie ....' ' is it an ice cream?' The words came back to him. Early morning, their bedroom ...  
"Is it an ice cream?"  
George started as Paul spoke the words out loud. What was it with ice cream? That was the second time Paul's thoughts had revolved around ice cream.  
"No, the watch, y' daft lad."  
Paul blinked, and looked at the watch on his wrist. He'd been so enamoured of the gift the only time he'd removed it had been to have a shower. He'd slept in it, played in it, made love in it ... made love ... John.... his John. Strong sturdy arms that made him feel safe and loved and ... wanted. Wanted for the right reasons. Those curly auburn hairs and ...  
"We're getting married."  
Phew. George breathed a sigh of relief. Getting there.  
"Yup, I know. I'm your best man, and I'm taking you out for a slap up meal and a drink, and then I'm looking after you. You're gonna get ready here tomorrow with me. Taxi is ordered for just after eleven. Lots of time for you to get yourself ready."  
Ow ... too much information there, George, he thought as he saw Paul look confused again for a moment. One thing at a time. Let's try again.  
"So ... I'm taking you out for a meal as soon as you finish that cup of tea. Where would you like to go? There's a new Italian place opened up a couple of streets away and it looks really nice. They've decked out the courtyard with lights and barrels of flowers ... made it look like a bit of Florence has landed in Liverpool."  
Paul listened carefully. At the same time bits of memories were slowly returning, like clouds that had floated away and were now floating back as the wind changed direction. He snuggled back onto the sofa and the feel of it alone brought back another slew of memories, each one stronger than the last.  
"Sounds good, yeah" he said.  
George allowed a small sigh to escape his lips. It appeared he had Paul back.  
"Okay. Do you want to change and shower or you okay as you are?"  
Paul glanced down at himself. He thought he was okay. "Do I smell?" he enquired with a wrinkle of his nose.  
George laughed. "No, course you don't. I was just being polite."  
A smile curved Paul's lips. "In that case, no. I'd love a Peroni and a pasta dish though. I'm getting hungry."  
"Good. That's ... good. I'll just feed the cat an' then we'll go."

The two lads wandered back home that night chatting in hushed voices. There was a full moon and the sky had slim black clouds drifting across, covering the stars then allowing them to shine again. George kept the topic light and close to Paul's heart. Paul could talk about music for ever. George left him to ramble on about the choir at the care home, about his students, and about his own songs he'd been writing. This piqued George's curiosity ... he'd never heard any of Paul's own compositions.  
"I'll play you some when we get back" Paul said confidently, then hesitated. "Oh .. you don't have a guitar. I forgot."  
"I have a ukelele if it's any use."  
"I've never played one but ... yeah, I'll give it a go."  
"Did you enjoy the meal?"  
"Mmm." Paul patted his stomach. "Well full now. You'll have to roll me down the aisle."  
They chuckled and leaned in to one another, their footsteps slightly unsteady as they'd drunk far more than they had intended. Paul gave an enormous yawn, followed by another.  
"Jesus, I'm tired." He stumbled slightly and George caught him.  
"Bed, I think, young man" George intoned in stentorian voice.  
"Aye, I'm older than you. Less of the young man."  
"But tonight I'm in charge. You are my responsibility" George slurred somewhat over the long word and they both burst out laughing.

It was sometime in the early hours of the morning that George woke. He was hot ... so very hot ... and as his senses slowly returned he became aware of Paul asleep behind him, clinging with tight fingers to George's t-shirt, just as he had when he first came to stay. Paul's head was buried somewhere on George's neck, each out breath a hot gust. He'd forgotten what a human radiator Paul was to sleep with. He stifled a yawn and didn't dare move. He didn't want to wake Paul, neither did he wish to deprive him of the comfort he so obviously craved. How it took him back having Paul share the tiny bed. They'd slept like this for weeks until George had purchased a camp bed and installed it in the cubby room, yet, even then, he would occasionally wake to find Paul had clambered in with him and was wrapped around his figure. These were now happier days, George pondered, his eyes drooping. Paul had met someone to share his life with. Getting married tomorrow ... who'd have thought ... George wafted the duvet, trying to get some fresh air into the bed ... he'd never sleep now ... he was hot ... just too hot .....

Light flooded the room. George blinked. Something was different ... something ...  
Paul!  
He shot up in bed, aware of the space next to him.  
God, he hoped he'd remembered to hide all the sharp knives.  
They'd been a bit wasted last night, and ...  
"Morning."  
George heaved a sigh of relief. Paul was standing there, not a stitch on, but holding a mug of tea out to George.  
"Oh, wow ... Paul ... ta. I should be doing this for you ... your wedding day, y'know ... spoil you a bit."  
Paul perched on the edge of the bed, watching as George took his first sip.  
"Is it okay?" He asked anxiously.  
"S'lovely. Really lovely."  
"John always makes me a cup of tea in the morning" Paul said wistfully, eyes dreamy. "He's always awake way before me."  
"Mmm, lucky fellow. What's the time?"  
Paul glanced at his watch ... the only item of clothing he wore. "Ten past nine."  
"Right" George struggled to sit up, pushing the heavy duvet off him. "I need to do you a proper breakfast."  
He diverted his eyes away from Paul for a moment, suddenly embarrassed.  
"Do you, er, wanna borrow my dressing gown?" He indicated a bright kimono style garment hanging on the back of the bedroom door.  
Paul looked surprised, but nodded. "Er, yeah, okay. Thanks."  
"I'll do you scrambled eggs on toast, how's that?" George offered, knowing it was one of Paul's favourites.  
"Ooh, yeah, please ...."  
"Then you can have the shower first so you have lots of time to get ready. D'ye need to iron anything?"  
Paul shook his head, a smile touching his lips. "Nope. Did it all yesterday morning .. including John's."  
"And it's not creased?"  
Paul waved his arm in the direction of the cubby room. "I hung it in my old room. The creases have dropped out again, I checked a few minutes ago."  
In my old room.   
The words sank into George's chest, and he felt a pang of nostalgia for the times gone.  
"Good" he murmured into his tea. "That's good. One less job to do. This is a good cuppa Paul."  
Paul brightened at the compliment. "Thank you. I didn't know what spice you put in though, so just made it normally."  
George frowned. That was a couple of times Paul had mentioned spice in the tea now. He let it pass with a shrug.  
"Well ... it's very good anyway. I've ordered the taxi for just after eleven. Should take us half hour to get there, even if there's a bit of traffic. What's the weather doing?"  
"Fine. It's fine. There was a bit of drizzle when I woke but the sun cleared it up."  
"How long you been up then?"  
Paul shrugged, eyes flickering to a distant corner of the room. "Dunno" he lied.  
"Did you sleep okay?" George asked suspiciously.  
Paul nodded, then hesitated. "I got a bit hot in the night so I went into the living room and sat on the settee for a bit."  
George smiled. "Yeah, I was hot too. You're like a fucking radiator, anybody ever tell y'?"  
Paul grinned.

As George washed up the breakfast dishes he could hear Paul singing in the shower. That was a good sign. A slow grin spread across George's face. It was good to have Paul here again. In an odd way he'd missed him ... although he'd not missed the hassle and worry that went with him. Gandhi twined his supple body around George's ankles, purring for attention. Scrubbing the congealed egg off the saucepan, George's thoughts ran to his own family. His mam would be getting ready now, so excited she was for this event.   
A dish slid off the drainer into the sink, causing water to splash all over the floor and George's feet. The cat disappeared with a hiss, and then Paul was standing there, hair dripping, towel slung around his waist, smelling fresh and clean and soapy.  
"Y'okay?" George asked, ineffectually trying to mop himself up.  
Paul nodded. He'd suddenly gone very quiet.  
"Y' sure?"  
He twiddled with a stray lock of dark wet hair and looked at George.  
"I'm a bit nervous" he admitted.  
George felt an overwhelming surge of affection for his old friend, and tugged Paul impetuously into his arms, giving him a hug.  
What George had not been prepared for was the rush of emotions that hit him when he did so. All at once ... so many feelings .... he was aware of Paul's body in his arms, soft, supple and compliant ... and the sudden awareness that he belonged to another man ... another person's property now ... he was John's ... and above all, totally taking George by surprise ... was the reaction in his own body to holding Paul .. the heat that shot uncontrolled to his groin ... and the sexual impact Paul had unwittingly had on him ...  
As if burnt, George released him just as quickly, and he saw the surprise in Paul's eyes, which were innocent of any misunderstanding. Heat now shot to George's face as well and he flustered, apologetic.  
"I ... sorry, I didn't ... I ..."  
Paul was gazing at him curiously.  
George swallowed down the embarrassment he felt. "I shouldn't have invaded your personal space" he explained limply.  
No way was he going to try and explain the awkward, gut wrenching attraction he'd suddenly felt. After all, he wasn't ... couldn't be ... had never, ever been attracted to the same sex. Not ever. He definitely wasn't ... no, certainly not. He cleared his throat and stepped back, patting Paul's arm awkwardly. Jesus, he couldn't even remember why he'd felt the need to hug Paul ... and anyway, he couldn't be attracted to him, could he? They'd slept together numerous times without George ever ... no, not ever ... feeling anything. So why now? Why just? What was it about Paul that had provoked such a reaction?  
('He's a sexual magnet, that boy. Just doesn't know it yet.')  
Who'd said that? Words not meant for George to overhear. Spoken a long time ago. Buried at the back of George's mind to be brought to remembrance now. He couldn't place the voice ... long ago ... so long ago ... one of his family, perhaps?   
George took a deep breath, then another.  
An amused smile brightened Paul's face. "It's okay, Geo ... I'm not offended."  
It's not you, Paul, it's me, George thought ... and I don't know why. I'm not gay ... I know I'm not gay ... but there's definitely something about you ....  
"Good ... good .. there's nothing to be nervous about" George's voice was slightly cracked, breaking. He could feel Paul's eyes on him still, analysing. God, the last thing he needed was a McCartney analysis ... once Paul got to thinking he didn't let go ... and would overthink. Uncomfortable.  
George squirmed. "Do you, er ... want another cup of tea?"  
Paul chuckled, and George was mightily relieved to hear such a sound. "I've already had four. I'll not make it through the ceremony at this rate."  
George tentatively patted Paul's arm again.  
Thank God.  
This time it was just normal flesh, slightly damp, a little chill from the water on it ... encouraged, George patted more firmly.  
"I think you ought to have one anyway ... just to be sure."


	50. Chapter 50

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The wedding

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trying to write the wedding took a bit of doing ... I do hope it's not too sketchy. It's been written over the course of a few days in what is our school holiday period so my concentration is, like, zilch!

John leaned on the windowsill of Mendips, relishing the gentle breeze that blew softly, shivering the tips of the trees and shrubs in the garden, and let out a sigh. He felt melancholy, but not in a bad way. Maybe the better word would be nostalgic. Nostalgic for times gone, years past. And with those memories was a melancholia that brought tears to his eyes; not those kind of tears that spill over, but those gentle ones that remain sitting in the eyelids, blurring the vision. He gave a sniff to clear them, and for a moment the world outside his window cleared. Off to the right of him he could see the lights of the city, the brightness of the street lights and buildings polluting the darkness. Somewhere .... out there .... in that artificial brightness ... was Paul. A warm tingling swirled in John's nether regions. He'd had a number of texts and a couple of calls from George reassuring him that Paul was okay ... he was fine ... he'd eaten ... he'd drunk ... maybe a little too much ... he was getting ready for bed ... he was in bed ... a running commentary on his fiance's, soon to be husband's, movements. Thank God for George.

Even though he remained looking out of the window, staring in the direction of the city centre, trying to visualise Paul, he was nonetheless conscious of the room behind him. Mimi had kept everything ... literally everything ... just as it was when he'd lived here. Including the posters on the wall. His books on the cupboard. Same bedspread. Same rug. It spoke to him of how much he'd really been loved, even if she'd never been able to show it. Well, he concluded, along with Paul there was another person in his life whose lot he was going to try to improve. He'd definitely ... most definitely ... keep in touch with her more. Visit her. Take her out.

He was feeling magnaminous.  
And why shouldn't he?  
He was about to snare the most gorgeous boy on the planet.

"You don't have a hairdryer?"  
"Paul, I've never had a hairdryer. Anyway, why d'you want one?"  
"Well, me hair'll curl at the ends if I don't dry it straight."  
"So? That's what hair does, innit? Curl a bit, if it's that way inclined?"  
"Yeah, but ... not today." Paul almost wailed.  
George looked closely at him. He did sound somewhat distressed. To George he looked fine ... as gorgeous as he always did ... fuck!!! What was he doing, thinking that?  
George coloured and glanced away, looking anywhere but at Paul. "Paul, y'look fine. Y' hair looks fine."  
Paul chewed his lip anxiously. George wasn't looking at him so may be that meant he didn't look okay ... maybe George was lying, trying to placate him ... shit, that one bit of hair at the nape of his neck always curled out, and over his ears ... it wouldn't lie down, no matter how much water he put on it, or how much he held it down, hoping that the warmth of his fingers and the flat of his hand might do the trick.  
"I'll look crap" he proclaimed theatrically.  
George did look at him now ... in astonishment. "Look crap? Jesus, if you ever look crap can I have a bit of the crapness, then? You look fucking awesome, mate."  
George emphasised the 'mate' bit.  
Not going there again.  
Paul turned back to the tiny mirror, fiddling with the rebellious bit of hair, muttering to himself. It had always had that tendency to go slightly fluffy if not stamped upon.  
"Paul, y' look fine."  
Paul turned to George, clinging onto those words. "Are y' sure?"  
He looked so ... desperate ...   
George's smile split his face. "Fucking awesome."  
Paul smiled back.   
Then the taxi blew it's horn.  
Paul went pale, his fingers suddenly numb.  
"Here we go" said George.

They tumbled into the back of the taxi, Paul still desperately trying to pat dry the ends of his hair.   
George thrust a couple of notes at the taxi driver.  
"How's the traffic?" he enquired anxiously.  
Paul was busy trying to see his reflection in the car window ... a hopeless task as the sun was so bright.  
Oh ... it was a nice day then ... sun shining ... oooohh ..  
"... bit of a hold up getting here ... summat goin' on in the city centre."  
"Oh aye, what's that, then?"  
"Dunno .. people marchin' with banners. Some bloody protest or other. Got y' belts on? Weddin' is it then?"  
"Yeah, sure is."  
"One of yous?"  
"Yeah" George jerked his thumb in Paul's direction " ... his."  
The cabbie cast a calculating glance at the groom to be in his rear view mirror. "Oh, right ... ready for a life sentence is he, then?" he chuckled.  
Paul never heard ... he was still trying, hopelessly, to straighten his hair. He fell slightly against the side of the car as it roared off to join the morning's traffic, taking the opportunity of a slight gap. George captured Paul's arm and pulled him back up.  
"Okay?" he enquired anxiously.  
Paul nodded ... he wasn't sure he could trust his voice yet.  
He was ... getting married.  
Oh fuck!

John could hardly believe how lucky they'd been with the weather.  
Mimi's back garden was dotted with three gazebos that had been loaned to them, and the vicar of St. Peter's church and one of the churchwardens were currently unloading somebody's pick up truck of the sixty fold up chairs that she'd borrowed from the church hall. Bet no one had dared refuse her requests, thought John, wandering barefoot into the kitchen and sticking his finger into a dish of whipped cream ... it did look very tasty.  
"John, stop that at once"  
He blinked, startled.  
She was outside, with her back to him, issuing instructions (commands?) to all and sundry. How the fuck did she know he'd just done that?  
"There's a cup of tea in the pot for you, and a breakfast keeping warm in the oven ... now don't dawdle, you don't have all day."  
Her tone was strict, but her eyes, when she turned to him, had a twinkle in them as she appraised him swiftly. "I hope you didn't drink too much last night."  
"Not at all, Mims" he replied with a wink.  
She flapped her hands impatiently. "Go on, then, get your breakfast. It won't stay warm all day."  
John opened the oven and the enticing smell of bacon met him. He carefully extracted the plate using a stripy tea towel. Mimi had excelled herself ... a full English breakfast greeted him. She must have been up since crack of dawn to have prepared this and be getting on with the reception preparations.  
"Ta, Mimi" he blurted out. He wasn't sure if she'd heard him, but he hoped she had.  
Twenty to nine. Not too late then. Plenty of time to get a shower and get ready. His thoughts drifted to Paul, hoping he'd had a good night and wondering, bemusedly, what George would give him for breakfast. Some veggie curry and rice? Actually, Paul would eat most things. Except fish. And bananas. A little warm puddle formed in John's stomach. He was getting married.

"Honestly, me bloody hair ... I'm sure that barber cut it too short. It's still in tufts."  
"John, it's fine. You look fine. Now stop mithering" said Mimi, patting her own stiffly sprayed locks that wouldn't dare budge even if a hurricane hit Liverpool.

"George, this bit of hair is still sticking up. I've wet it loads of times, but it won't lie down."  
George eyed Paul warily. How had he wet it? They were currently in a taxi on a very congested high street ... no water available.  
"How have you managed to wet it?" George asked curiously.  
Paul coloured slightly. "Licked me fingers" he admitted coyly.

As John entered St. James' Church a wonderful smell of fresh flowers hit him. It was like being in a florist's shop. Really ... wonderful. He felt himself relax, taking in the sight of yellow roses and lilies and babies' breath crammed in lots of vases. His footsteps slowed slightly, and he felt Mimi pause beside him.  
"Like it?" she asked.  
His smile was huge. "Fab! Paul'll love it."  
"John!! John, here look at me!"  
A flash blinded his eyes as he did so, and there were Astrid ... who'd just snapped a photo .. and Stu, both smiling at him and looking awesome in almost matching outfits. She wore a lilac mini dress with an oversized hat and Stu ... well, he pulled off really well a lilac skinny suit. As they approached him John realised that quite a few of their friends were already there, including Rob and Jacob. Rob was o.t.t. as always, with a big stetson on and cowboy boots and a brilliant coloured waistcoat. John's eyes swung round, taking in the scene, his heart full to bursting as he made his way down the aisle towards the front pews.  
"Good morning, and how is the groom this beautiful morning?"  
And there was the minister greeting him with a warm, firm handshake.  
Sunbeams filtered through the stained glass windows, bathing the interior of the church in a myriad of colours, as John took his place in the pew, his legs suddenly wobbly. He could hear an excited buzz behind him and knew, from Mimi's sudden disappearance, that the coach from the care home had arrived. He breathed out deeply, trying to still his racing heart, glancing at his watch. Twenty to twelve. Twenty minutes to go. Why were his fingers trembling? Stop it, John, he told himself firmly. Just ... stop it!!

"Traffic's really bad today ... it's not usually quite this bad. I could try a detour but not sure if it might end up taking longer."  
Paul chewed his lip, unconsciously patting down the offending piece of hair over his right ear.  
George glanced at Paul, then checked his phone, surreptitiously loading the latest traffic news onto his google map. Yup, it was red .. just updated.  
"It's red" he informed the taxi driver, who tutted and shook his head.  
The sound of police cars and ambulances sounded behind them and, along with all the other cars in the queue, the taxi mounted the kerb to get out of the way.  
"How far are we?"  
The taxi driver motioned vaguely to his left. "Only about ten minutes away if we could shift ... Church isn't far. I think there's something going on at Reynold's Park too. If I can get down Beaconsfield we might detour it, but we can't get near at the moment."  
"Let us out ..." George made a snap decision.  
Two pairs of eyes swung to him, gobsmacked.  
"Seriously, Paul ... we'll just have to run."  
The sound of another police car racing along gave impetus to George's decision.  
The taxi driver shook his head ... "I'm really sorry about this, guys .."  
"Not your fault ... come on, Paul, leg it ..."

There was muttering and murmuring and subtle shifting of bodies.  
John tried to ignore it.  
Tried to ignore the fact he was starting to sweat.  
He could feel Mimi beside him, her fingers rigidly gripping her handbag, knuckles white.  
Five past twelve and no sign of Paul.  
He shifted uncomfortably on the pew which was starting to feel hard and numb his backside.  
Where the fuck was he?

"There ... " Paul gasped, his pointing finger wobbling from exertion " ... Church Road South ... we must have made a wrong turn .. this is the other end of the road." He paused, heaving for a breath, beside him George doing the same. In the distance they could see the solid red brick building.  
Paul took a determined gulp of breath. "Ready? Come on ..." and began sprinting along the road, ignoring the catcalls from a group of teenagers wheeling their bikes idly in a circle under a patch of trees.

Ten past twelve and the murmurings were getting louder.   
John felt humiliation burning his cheeks, gnawing his innards.  
Was he gonna be stood up?  
Had Paul had a last minute panic?  
Meltdown?  
A sudden flurry at the back of church, a crescendo of noise, and almost immediately footsteps slowing as they reached the front pew.  
John's eyes were tightly shut, hoping, praying ... but he knew it was Paul. He could smell him. Not in a bad way ... although waves of heat were radiating off the figure that slid noiselessly into the pew beside John.  
He dared to glance up ...  
and was met with a full-blown smile from a very pink-cheeked and panting lad whose hair was tousled but eyes sparkling.  
"Sorry Johnny ... traffic jam" Paul murmured quietly under his breath.  
John didn't give a fuck ... Paul was here and that was all that mattered.  
Then a smell of spices wafted across and Paul shuffled towards John and John shuffled a bit further along in order to allow their best man to take his place.  
He heard the choir hum a chord and then the strains of Stairway to Paradise began.  
It was happening.  
They were really getting married.

John found it so hard to concentrate. He desperately wanted to remember every second of this day but found he was getting distracted ... the whiteness of the minister's surplice, that bit of hair of Paul's that was curling, the flash of cameras, the drone of a lazy bee that had made it's way into the church ... " to the wedding of John and Paul. Wonderful to see so many gathered together for what I know will be a joyful celebration. Before I begin though I need to ask if anyone present has any objection to the joining together in matrimony of these two people. No? Good ... let's get the show on the road then."  
John could hear Paul humming along in harmony to the next song, which just happened to be the Everly Brothers ... of course. And the lazy bee seemed to be in the right key too. Then George was stepping forward, handing over the rings to the minister, a big smile on his face.  
"John, take Paul's left hand into your left hand, and place the ring on his finger ... nice and tight now, you don't want to lose him ..." the minister added jovially with a smile. John slid the silver band over the knuckle, holding it firmly in place. He could feel Paul's eyes on him, watching ... he didn't dare look up because he reckoned he'd lose it ... he was so nervous. He licked his lips. " ... and say after me ' with this ring' .... ' with this ring' ... John could hear the wobble in his voice. He planted his eyes firmly on that silver circle .. ' I thee wed' ... 'I thee wed' ... ' with my body' ... 'with my body' ... a quivering echo... 'I thee honour' John copied, taking a breath ... finally ' and all my worldly goods with thee I share.' John looked up to meet Paul's twinkling eyes and he smiled in return. "Now Paul, take John's left hand in yours and place the ring ... that's right ... your turn now ... repeat after me ..."  
John felt the unfamiliar weight of a ring around the base of his finger, and Paul's fingers holding it there ...  
.... and still the bee was buzzing .... and his heart was beating .... and the warmth and strength of Paul's fingers round his ... he pulled the feeling close around him like a blanket.  
Vows were exchanged in the old words, each one having a special meaning to them, as if they'd never really thought of them before. Paul glanced across the congregation ... so many! He could see Louise smiling at him, looking inordinately proud, and he flashed a quick smile back. To think that all these people had come, had turned out, to see him and John married.  
"So, Paul, repeat after me ... 'I James Paul ....'  
Paul switched his attention back to the minister and John. 'I James Paul ...' 'take thee John Winston' .... a smile dimpled Paul's face at the sound of John's second name, and he saw a glint in John's eye ... 'take thee, John Winston ...'

"This is the point you may, if you wish, say something to each other ... a few words of your own devising, a poem, some prose ... or nothing it's up to you ..... " the minister looked expectantly at them, not wanting to apply pressure, but keen for them to have the opportunity to make the ceremony as personal to them as possible.  
"I ... er .... I have something to say" John offered. He took a deep breath, aware of the silence of the congregation, hoping he wouldn't balls this up. He faced his other half, fixing his gaze firmly on Paul's feet to begin with. "Paul ... I ... I looked for a poem, but I couldn't find anything that said what I wanted to say to you." Paul was listening, John knew ... as were over sixty other people. He felt colour rise to his cheeks as he lifted his eyes to meet Paul's wide gaze. " So ... " he cleared his throat. Now or never. "I ... I thought a few words ... would be better ... " Fuck! People would think he'd gone soft! He cleared his thoughts. "I never thought I would be so lucky in life as to meet someone like you. Words can never express what you mean to me. " Paul's eyes were on him, oblivious to everyone else. "You are the other half of my sky, the air I breathe, and the reason for my being. The day you said yes to me I became complete. You are my everything."  
There was a pause, and a stillness, then a murmuring, but their eyes were still locked.  
Then Paul smiled. He couldn't pull his glance away from John.  
John had ... said that ... about him.  
About ... him ...  
and ....  
"Oh" Paul breathed.  
There was a shifting of bodies, a little rustling, an air of expectation.  
George gave a discreet cough.  
Paul never noticed, and John was now openly smiling back at Paul.  
They were in their own world.  
George coughed louder, and then nudged the younger man, who turned, startled.  
"Paul .. er ... you, now ..." he whispered urgently.  
"Oh" Paul breathed again.  
He collected his scattered thoughts.   
Paul knew exactly what he was going to say, although he'd not written it himself. But it meant a lot to him and ... sort of ... summed up how he felt.  
He twisted his fingers together, feeling the unfamiliar silver band, then facing John he began.  
"The life that I have is all that I have, and the life that I have is yours.  
The love that I have of the life that I have is yours and yours and yours.  
A sleep I shall have, a rest I shall have, yet death will be but a pause,  
For the peace of my years in the long green grass will be yours and yours and yours."  
Paul enunciated each word clearly in his melodic voice, never taking his eyes off John. He wanted him to get it. To understand ... that he was giving John his all, now and forever.  
There was a pause as Paul ended, and a hush. Then someone sniffled. Then someone gave a little sob. Then there was a tiny spattering of applause.  
John reached out a finger and touched Paul's cheek.  
"Thank you" he whispered.

A flashbulb popping broke the solemn moment, and the minister stirred himself, so lost in the words exchanged he had been.  
He rubbed his hands together jovially and faced the congregation.  
"By the power invested in me by God and state I am pleased to declare you in the eyes of God and the laws of this country husband to each other ..... may you have a happy married life. You may now rejoice together .... away you go ... " with a big smile the minister waved his hands and Paul moved automatically in to John, slipping his hands around the man's waist and pulling him in tightly. Before John could register, Paul's lips were on his, demanding, loving ... in front of everyone!!!! ... in front of ... of .... Mimi!!!!!!!  
An enormous cheer rose from the congregation and elderly choir.  
Rob whooped and waved his hat in the air.  
Mimi found herself on her feet, whooping and cheering with everyone else, then sat down abruptly in astonishment, hoping no one had noticed her terrible faux pas, but glancing around it appeared everyone else was still on their feet. Determinedly she shot up again and clapped enthusiastically, handbag and decorum forgotten.  
" ... to the signing of the register, at which point I would like to invite family to witness ..."  
John turned to her, hand held out. "Mimi?" he queried.  
Blushing, and inwardly delighted, she rose to her feet as the choir began to sing the song from Titanic.  
Paul determinedly headed across to Louise Harrison, and held his hand out. Flustered and delighted, she rose to her feet, taking Paul's hand.  
"Your mam would be so proud of you today" she whispered.  
Paul hesitated, glancing at her. "You think so?" he asked quietly.  
She smiled warmly "I know so."  
Documents were spread on the table in front of them, a vase of yellow roses drooping artistically if accidentally over the papers. The minister pointed to the appropriate sections.  
"So, Paul ... just sign ... that's it .... and John ... good, good ... that's it, set in stone now. No changing your minds!! And now the witnesses ....."  
"Paul ... John ... this way..." Stu's voice hissed and they both glanced up, flushed and smiling, as Astrid stepped in to take a photo.  
Then the minister was shaking both their hands and the choir began to sing 'Dream' as, hand in hand, John and Paul began to exit the church, smiling shyly at all their guests.  
"So much for a quiet wedding, eh?" John whispered in Paul's ear.  
Ritchie and Lottie were waiting in the porch and threw confetti over the pair as, laughing, they trotted out to the waiting car. John held the door open "After you, Mr. Lennon" he joked. It hit Paul ... that was now his name. He pecked a quick kiss on John's cheek. "Thank you, Mr. Lennon."  
John shook his head. "Something tells me we didn't think the name thing through very well."  
They slid together onto the back seat of the waiting taxi, strongly aware of the cheers and waves that were still going on, but, for a moment, secluded in their own little bubble of happiness. They both sighed at the same time, looked at each other, giggled, and collapsed into each other's arms. They didn't need champagne ... they were already fizzing.

" ... to meet my son-in-law."  
Mimi had Paul firmly by the arm and was towing a bemused Paul around, introducing him to people whose name he was sure he wouldn't remember.  
Technically he wasn't her son-in-law either, but he didn't feel he could argue with her.  
Oh no!  
Not with Mimi.  
If she wanted him to be a son-in-law, then son-in-law he'd be.  
He gripped a champagne flute in his left hand tightly, holding onto it for dear life.  
There were so many people to greet.  
" ... from St. Peter's. She did your flowers."  
Paul nodded and smiled and issued a 'thank you' and Mimi seemed satisfied.  
Paul's eyes were flickering around, trying to locate John. There was certainly a crowd around the substantial buffet tables.  
"... and this ..."  
"Ay, Mim's, can I have my husband back please?" John's voice appeared at Paul's elbow and Paul let out a sigh of relief.  
"Well, I was just ..."  
"He's needed ... and he ain't had anything to eat yet. He has a habit of passing out if he doesn't get adequate sustenance."  
Paul nudged John but was silenced with a look.  
"Oh ... oh, right." Ah, Mimi thought, so maybe that was what was wrong with Paul ... she made a mental note.  
"John" Paul admonished as he was dragged away to one of the tables.  
"Shurrup and get something to eat before all the speeches start."  
"Speeches?"  
"Yeah .. traditional. Yeah? Speeches."  
"But .. but ..."  
"But what, Macca?"  
Paul grinned broadly. "Y' can't call me that any more.".  
John hit himself on the forehead. "Fuck! Didn't think of that. Anyway, speeches."  
"Who?"  
"Who what?"  
Paul frowned. He was getting somewhat confused. Was he losing it?  
"What .. who .." he waved his left hand, and caught sight of the ring. God! He was married.  
"George" said John.  
"George? George ... what ??"  
John clicked his fingers in front of Paul's face. "Are you on this planet or somewhere else, love?"  
Paul smiled. "I dunno."  
"Well, as best man George is doing the speech. And I understand that Ritchie would like to say something too .. so better prepare yourself."

Paul was too churned up to eat ... a mixture of excitement and tiredness and just overwhelmedness. Lottie thrust a sandwich into his hand.  
"For goodness sake eat something" she hissed.  
Paul tried to obey, he really did.  
The food was superb ... everything that Mimi had mentioned to him. Champagne and strawberries and cream with dainty sandwiches and cakes. He just wished he was hungry or could stop the butterflies that were fluttering in his stomach. After all the ceremony was over and he hadn't fucked anything up, but the adrenalin was still racing.  
There was a clinking of spoon on glass and the sound carried and people hushed, then John's arm was on his, towing him to a couple of seats that had been placed in a prominent position in the shade of a gazebo.  
"As best man I have a few words I'd like to say" George began. He looked fondly at Paul and John seated near to him.  
"I hate to sound smug, but I knew this would happen from the first time they met. It was so obvious. Even if Paul did refer to John as a prick."  
There was a burst of laughter from half the crowd while the other half tried to fathom out if they'd heard correctly. Paul coloured and hid his face on John's shoulder, who was shaking with mirth. George softened his tone. "Having known Paul for a long long time I must say he doesn't usually refer to people like that. He is usually very thoughtful and gentle and a damn good all round mate....." Paul blushed at the kind words George spoke about him, tactfully avoiding any mention of family or any history that would be considered inappropriate. George smoothly moved on to John and their shared love of music and how, although very much opposites, they seemed to be made for each other.  
" .... and so I ask you all to be upstanding and raise your glasses to John and Paul ...."  
"John and Paul" echoed a multitude of voices in the clear summer air.  
Then Ritchie took the stage. "I can't let this opportunity go by without saying something about this couple that I've shared my house with for the last year or more. I have to say ... they deserve each other!" There was a ripple of laughter and a smattering of applause. "I won't embarrass Paul by mentioning his cooking skills ..."  
"Oy!" Paul called.  
"... or John's cleaning skills ..."  
"Double oy!" shouted John.  
" .... but together they should muddle through. And if you want a button sewing on or a shirt ironing then Paul's your man ... equally John can rustle up a good meal and do a bit of handiwork. Seriously ... I think both me and George feel we've had a hand in this day coming to be, and George is right. They're definitely made for each other. They're about to make a new life for themselves and quite rightly so ... but I'll miss having the pair of them around. So ... John and Paul ... here's to the pair of you. Wishing you long life and happiness ...."

"First dance ..."  
"Yay ... first dance. Come on lads."  
It sounded as a solo voice but grew in volume as others joined in.  
Chairs were pushed back to make a small space on the grass.  
John looked panicked as Paul determinedly took his arm.  
"Dance? Fuck, Paul, I can't dance..."  
"Y' don't have to, Johnny, just hang on to me and move where I do."  
There was whooping and cheering as the strains of 'Let it be Me' drifted across the summer breeze.  
John found himself gripped tightly by Paul, their bodies slotting perfectly together. He rested his head on Paul's shoulder and found Paul doing the same to him. There was warmth ... and that familiar smell ... and the feel of the body under the clothes ... and ...  
John sighed. "I love you" he whispered.  
There was a chuckle. "Good job. We're married now. Nowt y' can do about it."

"Lovely wedding. Thank you so much for the invitation."  
Mimi glanced up from where she was re-arranging a flower that had dared to droop on one of the little tables, and met the smile of a smartly dressed woman who was holding out her hand. "I'm Sarah Warren ... my husband is Steve ... " she indicated the dark haired man who was standing chatting to Paul under the shade of a gazebo .." Paul's probation officer. We've really enjoyed ourselves."  
Mimi's hand faltered in the grip of Sarah's. "Pr .. probation officer?" she stammered in puzzlement, staring at the young woman.  
Sarah hesitated ... had she just put her foot in it? Aware of that fact she squirmed slightly. "I .. er ... yes. My husband works for the probation service .. erm ... he, er ..." she struggled, gathering herself together. "It's been a lovely wedding. Absolutely delightful. You must be very proud ..." She gave the older woman's hand a gentle squeeze and moved off quickly, her face flooding with colour. She had the feeling she'd just dropped someone right in it.


	51. Chapter 51

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The reception ... really a continuation of the last chapter!!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So .. the reception ... dug myself in a bit of a hole with this ... hopefully I've dug myself out of it again??  
> I love, LOVE reading all the comments, so please keep commenting.  
> Update may be soon, or it may be a gap ... depends on life ... but more will be coming.

'Probation officer.'

Mimi's legs gave way beneath her and she sat down, stunned, on a conveniently placed chair.

'Probation officer.'

Word association played through her buzzing thoughts. Criminal record. Juvenile delinquent. Police. Magistrates' Court. Trouble.

Trouble.

Someone spoke into her right ear but she didn't hear them.  
The world around her had blurred, shimmering bright, conversations indistinct, everything appearing through a haze.  
The person that had spoken to her gave a shrug, noting her glazed eyes and unresponsive manner, and moved away.

Probation officer.

She knew it. She knew there was something wrong.

She grit her teeth and rose determinedly to her feet, seeking out her nephew.  
At that point in time nothing else mattered.

"... really lovely occasion, Paul. I'm so glad for you both."  
Paul murmured his thanks to Steve, noting out the corner of his eye a very grim faced looking Mimi moving across the busy lawn.  
He shivered slightly, not knowing why.  
It had all gone too well.  
Something was bound to go wrong.  
Stop it, he told himself. Just ... stop it.  
Stop thinking the worst all the time.  
He tried to turn his attention back to Steve but he couldn't help but watch Mimi's determined march across the lawn in the direction of John.  
It would be his fault. Bound to be. Always was.  
".... moving on Monday, John tells me."  
Steve felt Paul's distraction and tried to pull the young man back round.  
Paul twirled the glass in his fingers, looking down into the fizzing champagne, and frowned. How many of these had he drank?  
"Er, yeah ... Rob and Jacob are holding a farewell party tomorrow and then they're going. We're gonna have to close the shop for the day while we get sorted ..."  
...... his eyes drifted off in Mimi's direction again, and he could see her waving her hand in the air in front of John. He chewed his lip nervously.  
Steve followed the direction of Paul's glance. Personally he didn't see any problem, but ....  
"Are you looking forward to it? Having somewhere on your two own?" He tried to keep Paul rooted there.  
Paul's gaze reluctantly shifted back to him. "Yeah. We are ... I think."  
"Think?" Steve asked with a grin.  
He was relieved to see an answering smile. "Uh huh. I'm not much of a cook, y'see, so ... well, we'll miss Ritchie's meals."  
"I'm sure you'll learn, once you have a kitchen of your own."  
Paul didn't look very convinced by this statement, and his eyes drifted off again in the direction of Mimi and John.  
Steve frowned. Something must have disturbed Paul's equilibrium, although, Steve consoled himself, the younger lad was sensitive and apt to see problems where there were none.  
"I'm sure you'll have a wonderful life together" Steve rounded the conversation up as he saw Tom and Sean approaching, big smiles on their faces, keen to add their congratulations for the big day.

"John, I need a word."  
Mimi's voice cut through the conversation John was currently having with George's parents, and he turned in astonishment at his aunt's impropriety.  
"What ... now?"  
George's parents glanced at each other. Was the woman always this rude?  
"Yes, now. It can't wait."  
John pointedly apologised to Louise and Harold before following Mimi to a secluded part of the garden.  
Her face was tightly drawn, mouth a thin line of displeasure.  
"Mimi, what ..."  
She ignored him as well, simply cutting across his unfinished sentence.  
"John, why does Paul have a probation officer?"  
Her words cut like a knife as she stood there, arms folded, glaring at him.  
Faced with someone who could be as hard-headed as him, words failed John as they locked eyes.  
"Oh fuck!" was all he could offer.

The music that Paul had chosen for the afternoon was playing gently through the speakers, loud enough so that people could hear it, but not so loud that it drowned out the buzz of conversation. Everywhere people were gathered in little groups, one body or another occasionally leaving one group to join another, like a graceful carousel. The smell of Mimi's roses was almost overwhelming in the warm breeze that just lifted the day from being too hot. Flaming June, as it was called in England, wasn't always flaming. Sometimes it rained. Sometimes it could be downright miserable. But today it had blessed them with perfect weather. Astrid and Stu were unobtrusively snapping lots of photographs of the event, making sure they captured all the guests. Ritchie and Lottie were gossiping with George who, being by now very slightly tipsy, was spilling lots of stories and memories about Paul as a young boy ... much to their amusement. George painted a picture of a much more extrovert character than the one Ritchie was used to being with, something he found intriguing. This was a Paul he didn't know. And the elderly people from the care home were much livelier than anyone had expected, a few of them getting up to dance to the music Paul had chosen, their chatter bright and excited.

"Oh fuck!"

They glared at each other.  
Why now? John thought. Why couldn't it wait? Why today?  
At the same time he was chiding himself. He had thought about this once before ... the fact that someone might say something. After all, apart from Steve being there, there were two police investigative officers in the form of Tom and Sean, and the matron of the care home who had taken on Paul for serving out the end of his probation year. It was too much to hope that it would all remain under the carpet.

"You deceived me!"  
Bit dramatic that, John thought, at the same time realising it was also how he would probably react.  
"I did not deceive you."  
Mimi waved a hand, batting away his words.  
"You never told me."  
"There was never an opportune moment."  
Well, that much, at least, was true.  
"What was he in for?"  
"It was an error."  
They spoke over one another and paused, staring.  
John leapt in first. "It was an error and Paul was cleared ..."  
".... of what?"  
"..... his criminal record has been removed. He's as clean as you and me."  
Spots of colour were high in Mimi's cheeks and she could feel her heart beating fast. What was she not being told?

Steve glanced at Sean and Tom as they joined him and Paul, his eyes catching on the edge of his vision what was distracting Paul.  
Mimi and John.  
And it looked ... confrontational.  
Oh!  
"Paul, congratulations." Sean held his hand out and, startled, Paul took it, feeling the warmth and the genuine concern that lay in that grip. He squirmed slightly, always aware of the fact that these two guys knew things about him. Maybe more about him than he did himself.  
"Er .. thanks." His voice stammered slightly. He felt pulled ... he wanted to know why John was over there with Mimi and what was going on.  
"Lovely occasion" Tom added, leaning in to shake hands. "Tell me, who chose the music that's being played?"  
Paul's face lit up. "Oh, I did. Ritchie helped me put the playlist together."  
"A lot of fifties" Tom commented. "I love fifties music."  
Paul responded swiftly, and Tom thought privately he'd never seen Paul so animated before. "Oh, so do I. It's one of my favourite eras .. also I knew it would mean a lot to the folks from the care home. It's the time they recall best."  
Tom smiled. "Y'know, it was really nice of you to invite them. Really thoughtful."  
Paul coloured at the praise and squirmed in embarrassment. "I like them. They're good people, easy to get on with. Don't ask questions, you know?"  
Yes, Tom did know. He picked up straight away what Paul was on about.  
They began chatting about music, and Steve and Sean began their own separate conversation, moving just a few feet away for privacy.  
"It's been good ..." Steve offered tentatively, testing the waters.  
Sean gave a nod. "Yup, so far, so good."  
"Tom said the case begins again soon?"  
Sean patted his pockets for a cigarette, then remembered he was trying to cut down ... and what was more Steve had not long given up. He sighed in exasperation, and Steve mis-read him.  
"Sorry, I didn't mean to talk work.."  
Sean flapped his hand impatiently. "No, it's not that, Steve ... I just fancy a fuckin' cigarette, y'know? Tom'd have me guts for garters ... forever on at me not to smoke. There's times when I just, y'know, really need one."  
Steve chuckled "Tell me about it. Me wife nagged me to give up after the birth of our first child. Banished me out the house every time I fancied a ciggie. What did it in the end was I got so pissed off with freezing me balls off outside ... whoops, speak of the angels ..." Steve blushed guiltily as his wife approached him, but to his surprise she was also blushing and looked worried. She glanced briefly at Sean, relieved her husband was with someone she already knew.  
"Okay, love?" Steve enquired curiously.  
"Hi, Sean .. er, Steve, I think I've just put me foot in it." A frown creased her smooth brow.  
"In what way, Saz?"  
"I .. er ... " she glanced behind her in the same direction Paul's eyes had been pulled. "I happened to mention to John's aunt that you were Paul's probation officer, and ..."  
"Oh, fuck." Steve needed no more. He had a pretty good bet that nothing had been told to Mrs. Smith and this more or less confirmed it.  
"She seemed a bit .. shocked." Sarah winced, visibly upset. "I'm sorry, I didn't know she didn't .."  
"S'okay, Sarah" Sean took her arm, giving it a squeeze. "You weren't to know. Leave it to me ..."  
"I don't mind going ..." Steve stepped in, but Sean shook his head.  
"Leave it to me" he repeated firmly, patted his pockets to check he still had cigarettes, and turned on his heel and headed in the direction of John and his aunt. A few people were casting curious glances at them ... not surprised, thought Sean. They looked like two bulls about to lock horns. Steve strode over determinedly.

" ... so the police .."  
"Mimi, it's nothin' ..."  
Sean moved in smoothly, hand outstretched.  
"Mrs. Smith, what a pleasure to meet you."  
John blinked, surprised.   
So did Mimi.  
Two almost identical expressions.  
Sean threw a casual wink at John.  
"You never told me you had such a talented aunt as this, able to execute such a wonderful reception with very little help. Where have you been hiding her?"  
John's mouth dropped open as he searched for a reply. Finding none, he closed it again.  
Sean smoothly took hold of Mimi's hand and, with his other arm, gently steered her away from John.  
She was too flabbergasted to stop him.  
"This has been a most wonderful occasion. So entertaining. You must have worked so hard. A beautiful day for all concerned. And so good for Paul, and John, after such a difficult year and the obstacles that have been in their way...."  
Mimi blinked again, bemused by the attractive, smooth-talking gentleman who was deftly steering her across her lawn, away from John and the other guests, chatting away as if she knew what he was on about ... knew who he was, for goodness sake ...  
Sean paused to take a breath, patting his pockets for cigarettes as they paused. "You don't mind if I smoke, do you?"  
Mimi shook her head dumbly.  
Actually, she abhorred smoking, and the smell, and the waste of money, but there was something about this guy ... she couldn't tell him that .... he was rather ... nice ... persuasive ... flattering ... she realised all that but still soaked it up like water into a sponge.  
"No, I .. er ..." she flapped a hand, finding herself lost for words.  
Sean's grey eyes twinkled. "Ah, good, terrible habit, I know, but sometimes the stresses of the job demand some compensation."  
She gave a wavery smile. After all, this was one of her guests. "Um, yes, stress. I understand." She made a big effort to pull herself together. "What job is it you do, Mr. .. er .." she enquired primly.  
Sean slapped himself theatrically on the head. He hoped his performance would be appreciated.  
"I'm so sorry ... so remiss of me. I've not even introduced myself." He gave a flourishing bow, at which a faint smile touched Mimi's mouth. She knew she was being flattered but .. oh, after so long, it was nice. Very nice. "Sean Mahoney at your service. Inspector Sean Mahoney, actually." He gave her a disarming grin and a wink. "I work as an undercover investigator for the Metropolitan Police and that guy over there, talking to Paul, is my partner Tom. We work together. That's how we got to know Paul and John." Sean lit his cigarette, taking a deep drag, and sobered his voice. "Nasty business, Paul getting dragged into problems not of his making. But of course, you probably know about that."  
He glanced at Mimi, trying to gauge her reaction.  
She didn't want to say she knew nothing. It would make her feel inadequate.  
But one glance at her visage and Sean sussed that she knew nothing.  
Well he wasn't going to spill the beans. Not his place to anyway. He was gonna dance around the subject and tie it up neatly, so John and Paul could get on with their life.  
"Of course" he lowered his voice conspiratorially, and Mimi had to lean in to catch the next words. It made the whole affair seem like a secret meeting. "They won't talk about it. It's too upsetting. Can't anyway, really, as investigations are still on going."  
"Oh, really?" she queried, raising an eyebrow, encouraging him to tell more.  
Sean exhaled a breath of smoke and nodded. "Mmm. You'll read about it in the papers, I'm sure."  
"I will?"  
"Oh, definitely. Lots of big names involved." Sean kept it all deliberately vague acting as if she was on his wavelength.  
Mimi tried to put on a more knowledgeable face. "Yes, of course. I see."  
"Best thing that happened for Paul is meeting John. Your nephew has really helped get him back on his feet after what's been a truly traumatic time. That's why this, today, is such a wonderful occasion. You must be very proud of your nephew ... he's been a real trouper."  
Mimi nodded. She was none the wiser but felt she should agree with Sean.  
"I'm sure" Sean continued " with John at his side Paul will overcome all the mental scars this episode has left him with. He's a really talented young man. Have you heard him play?"  
Wordlessly Mimi shook her head.  
Sean flicked some ash from his cigarette. "If you get chance, go and have a listen. Next time he does one of his care home concerts. They're good, aren't they, those old folk?"  
Sean smoothly moved the conversation away from John and Paul and into a different scenario. "I loved hearing the choir. Anyway ... I must stop monopolising your time. It's been lovely to talk to you."  
Sean took Mimi's hand and gave it a squeeze. "Your nephew ... so brave. Such a good man."  
Mimi nodded.  
Yes, he was, wasn't he.  
She'd always known that.  
"Thank you, Inspector Mahoney."  
"Sean" he murmured gently. "Call me Sean. Delighted."

Paul yawned widely, tried to smother it, and failed completely. John glanced at him in amusement.  
"Tired?"  
Paul went to shake his head, grinned, and changed his mind. "Yeah, just a bit."  
George leaned in. "Not too tired, I hope?"  
From the corner of his eye John saw Ritchie and Lottie exchange glances.  
From his pocket George took an envelope and waved it at the newly wed couple. "Good. 'Cos me and Ritchie and Lottie booked you a room for the night at the Titanic Hotel, meal's booked for eight, booking receipts are here, and a taxi is picking you up in an hour, so ... there y' go." With a flourish George handed the envelope to John.  
"That's ... fuck, mate .. that's awesome. Thanks" John stammered, picking up the envelope and looking at it as if it held all of life's answers.  
Paul went pink. Hotel? Meal? He suddenly threw his arms around George, and George ... carefully keeping a distance ... hugged back.  
"Ritchie and Lottie too" George prompted, and Paul turned and hugged them both as well, still completely speechless.  
John was running through the logistics in his mind. "We need to get some clean clothes for tomo ..."  
"Done!" said Lottie promptly, with a big grin. "Including underwear, Johnny boy! Ritchie helped me."  
"Ah, been rifling through me knickers again have y'?" John teased, quite overcome by such a magnaminous gesture.  
"That's just ... just ... " Paul couldn't find the words he wanted.  
"Well, we reckoned you didn't just wanna end the day back with us. Y' can make y' way 'ome tomorrow when y' ready. Tonight needs to be special, doesn't it?" Ritchie turned to his wife for confirmation, and she pecked a quick kiss onto his cheeks.  
"Certainly does. You two" she turned back to them "Just enjoy yourselves. It's supposed to be a lovely hotel, and the meals been paid for ... including a bottle of wine ... so have some fun on us. You can tell us all about it tomorrow when you come home."  
Paul sat back, stunned. How could anyone be so nice? So ... thoughtful? So ... he sniffled, quite overcome with a mixture of tiredness, too much alcohol and not enough food, and the whole excitement of the day. He turned into John's shoulder, burying his face and hiding his embarrassment, and with a wry smile John gave his shoulders a squeeze.  
"Y' okay?" he murmured gently into the mussed up dark hair.  
There was a slight nod. "Uh huh. Just ... happy."  
"John?"  
John glanced up, startled, to see his aunt standing there.  
She looked slightly uncomfortable, twisting her hands, her face pink.  
As pink as Paul's had been a moment ago.  
His heart sank. "Yeah?" he said, his voice gruffer than he'd intended.  
He saw her wince.  
"I .. er ... " she noticed George and Ritchie and Lottie watching her, and she gathered herself together determinedly.  
"I just wanted to say ... I am very proud of you. And Paul."  
Having issued this proclamation, she scuttled away.  
John blinked, looked at the others, shrugged, then smiled.

Sean had arrived back at Steve and Sarah's side rubbing his hands.  
"Sorted."  
Steve looked at him with surprise, Sarah with relief.  
"How?" Steve asked.  
Sean winked. "Spun her a story without telling her anything. It's easy when y' know how."  
"I felt awful" Sarah put in. "I had no idea she didn't know anything."  
"It's okay Saz" Steve reassured his wife. "You weren't to know. Hell, I didn't know either, but having said that I'm not surprised."  
"Thanks, Sean" Sarah nodded.  
"Not a problem. A bit of the blarney goes a long way. Anyway, she's a nice old bird ... got her nephew's best intentions at heart. She just wanted to know he's not getting into bed with a criminal, and now she knows. I don't think she'll ask anything. Now ... where's the beer???"

As the clock in Mimi's parlour chimed six a taxi drew up outside, blowing it's horn.  
There was a chorus of 'bye's' and 'good luck's' and 'all the best's' and a few rude catcalls from close friends like Rob.  
John grasped Paul by the wrist as Ritchie and George appeared with two packed overnight bags, their faces plastered with huge grins.  
The pair were suddenly surrounded as their guests eagerly gathered to see them off.  
From the corner of Paul's eye he could see the minibuses waiting to take the old folk back to the care home. The day was over for them, but for him and John a new life was just beginning. He could feel his eyes blurring with tears and impatiently shoved them back down. His emotions were running high and he didn't think he could hold himself together for much longer. John's fingers were steady on his wrist, and he could feel his pulse beating against them.  
"John, Paul, this way, quick" a voice called ... Stu?? ... and as they turned a camera flashed.  
As Paul turned back he was pulled into a hug by ... by ... fucking hell ... by Mimi.  
Their eyes met and she gave a wobbly smile.   
Paul swallowed nervously and gave an equally wobbly smile back.  
"Come on, dearest" John sang in a girly voice "Taxi's waiting. Ladies first."  
Paul's punch to John's shoulder was as weak and wobbly as his smile had been, but there was a twinkle in his eyes.  
"Better get in, hadn't you, then?" he retorted.


	52. Chapter 52

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A quick update ... that's why the chapters are a little shorter. Thanks for all the lovely comments and kudos.

They stumbled through the door of their hotel room, arms tangled around each other, hiccuping and giggling and satiated with wine and food and the excitement of the day, like two overtired children who didn't want the fun to end. No one was quite sure who was supporting who as they fell through the door into the room, reluctant to let go of one another as John searched blindly for a light switch. The room flooded with a warm light as Paul tried, ineffectually, to kick off his shoes without using his hands because his hands were busy elsewhere ... where, exactly, he wasn't sure. Finally succeeding, they both then tripped over the offending articles and landed in a heap on the carpeted floor, their giggles becoming louder.  
"Sssh" chided John, his face rosy as he tried to put his hand over Paul's mouth.  
Paul only giggled louder and licked John's palm.  
"Eugh ... eugh, you little ..." he tumbled on top of the younger man and started tickling his ribs ... and Paul was ticklish .. extremely so. He wriggled and kicked and flailed his arms until John was forced to give up after a particularly violent blow to his nose which made him see stars for a minute.  
"Up .. up .. come on, stop kicking" He tugged Paul up and onto the bed where they both collapsed again into each other's arms, unable to let go, unable to part. He could smell Paul's wine-soaked breath and hear the muffled giggles and it started him off again and they were laughing at everything, at nothing. Finally, exhausted, stomachs aching, they drew breath, and Paul flopped his head down on John's chest. John leaned back onto the pillow, so soft underneath his head, and sighed, running his hand up and down Paul's back, his mind a whirlwind of colours, sounds and visions from the day, eyes open but unseeing, conscious only of Paul's warm body resting on top of him. He slowly became aware of Paul's fingers trying, unsuccessfully, to unbutton his shirt. As attempts went, it was pretty unsuccessful too. Paul paused in his attempt and checked his fingers, just to make sure the digits he was using actually did belong to him because they didn't seem to be working. A frown furrowed his brow before he made another attempt. Who would have thought buttons and buttonholes were so complicated. He let out a tiny grunt of satisfaction when he managed to pop the first one and immediately started on the next one down ... or was it up? ... knowing only that he had to get to John's chest. At that particular moment in time nothing else mattered.

John was too tired to object. Not that he was going to try and stop Paul from undressing him anyway. By now the motion of running his hand up and down Paul's back had become ingrained. He could hear Paul puffing as he attempted the next button then suddenly, after a tug, the tiny round object shot across the room, landing with a 'ping' as it hit the mirror.  
There was a momentary silence, then they both started chuckling again. But by now Paul had access to a small exposed bit of skin and he tried in vain to kiss it. It appeared his lips had the same problem as his fingers, so he struggled to sit up so that he could fathom out what was going on, but then discovered he couldn't sit up either.  
"Ugh" he flopped back down, lazily kissing the tiny bit of exposed skin with whatever part of his lips were the nearest.  
"I love you" he murmured.  
John's back rubbing became more vigorous as he summed up the energy to respond.  
"Yeah ... I know."  
Paul's sloppy kissing stopped and his brow furrowed again. That hadn't been the correct response.  
He gathered his woolly thoughts together. They were as sluggish as his fingers.  
"No. No, you don't understand ... I love you ... as in ... I really love you, Johnny."  
"Yeah ... I know."  
Paul tried batting John to hammer the words home but now nothing was working properly. He managed two thumps but the third just ... stayed ... there ... hand ... on .. John's chest. Which was warm. And comforting. And safe.  
John pulled himself together for a mercurial effort.  
"I love you too."  
There was no reply.  
John's back rubbing stopped as he tried, from his awkward position underneath Paul, to view his lover's face.  
All he could see were long black lashes resting on rosy cheeks, and feel a steady in out breath on the exposed bit of skin.  
"Paul?"  
He tried a bit louder.  
"Paul?"  
Now his neck was aching from craning up.  
He sighed and flopped back onto the pillow.  
"And what did you do on your wedding night John?" he asked himself.  
No one replied, of course.

"Ah, come in, come in ... great to see you both. We wondered if you'd make it. So, how was the wedding night?"  
Looking somewhat sheepish and just a little hungover, the two newly-weds glanced at each other.  
"Ah, well ... y'see ..." John began.  
Paul was watching him cautiously.  
Rob grinned. "A good night?"  
A slow colour rose in Paul's face and he murmured something unintelligible under his breath.  
"Paul fell asleep." John grinned as he said it and Rob broke into a peal of laughter.  
He patted Paul on the back. "Am I surprised? Anyway ... Jacob got so drunk on our wedding night he was incapable ..."  
"I beg your pardon.." Jacob arrived smoothly at their side carrying a drink each for them. "And who was it plied me with Scotch, eh? Answer me that. You ignore them, Paul. Here you go ... have a Pimms. Mixed it myself. It's not too alcoholic. Try it. By the way, it was a fantastic day yesterday. You both pleased with how it went?"  
They nodded, Paul glad for the topic of conversation to have moved off him.  
"And ready to take over here?" Rob put in.  
"Uh huh. Reckon so."  
"Good. Well, you'll know most people here, and those y' don't will introduce themselves soon enough. Go and mix and enjoy y' selves. By the way, we're leaving you two with the clearing up."  
"No we are not" Jacob disagreed. "Stop teasing, Rob. It's all disposable stuff, and the flat'll be left clean when we go."  
John and Paul watched with amusement the good-natured banter between Rob and Jacob, and Paul leaned comfortingly into John's side.   
This was going to be their home now.  
Their own home.  
Just him and John.  
Who would have thought it would come to this.  
Sometimes he still had to pinch himself, make sure he wasn't dreaming.  
He felt John's arm tighten around him, and he sighed contentedly, spinning the glass between his fingers, his eyes fixated on the slim silver band.  
Life couldn't get any better.

'Closed' said the sign on the shop door.  
The flat appeared like a bomb site with boxes and various items strewn everywhere.  
Paul sat in the middle of it all trying to recall how he'd organised things. Which was the most important. And ... what he'd forgotten.  
"Loo roll, Paul ... bit fuckin' obvious, innit."  
John didn't sound very happy.  
Paul squirelled around amongst various packages and managed to find some Aloe Vera soaked tissues for when one of them had a cold. He thrust a packet in through the toilet door, ignoring John's mutterings.  
" ... thought you were fuckin' organised ..." he caught the words and shrugged them off.  
He wouldn't let John get to him.  
After all, he was tired.  
They were both tired.  
It had been a hectic few days and now it was almost four o'clock and still the flat looked as if a bomb had hit it.  
Paul sat down heavily on the floor in the middle of the chaos and chewed his lip worriedly. If he'd forgotten something as obvious as toilet rolls what else might he have forgotten?  
He heard the toilet flush and the sound of running water as John washed his ... oh fuck ...  
"Any soap, Paul?"  
Shit. Bugger bugger bugger.  
"Paul???"  
He drew his legs up and circled them with his arms.  
He'd been proudly telling everyone he had everything. EVERYTHING as in capital letters everything.  
He obviously hadn't.  
John popped his head round the door, summoning up a cutting comment ... mainly just 'cos he was tired and irritable and all that pent up emotion had to go somewhere ... then he caught sight of his husband sitting in a huddle amongst the mess and he swallowed the comment down. Chucking the towel onto the floor ... a habit Paul hoped to break John of eventually .. he strode through the strewn papers and boxes until he reached Paul. In one fluid action he pulled the younger man to his feet and drew him into his arms.  
"I'll go to Sainsbury's and get some ..." he murmured.  
He met Paul's eyes which were anxious. "I thought ... I thought I'd got everything .."  
John forced the biggest, brightest smile he could find, however false it appeared. "Hey, you're not superman, an' I don't expect you to be. Just as much my fault. I mean, I left all this to you and you were working too."  
A wobbly smile began to trace it's way across Paul's face.  
John's eyes raked the surrounding mess. It didn't look any better than it had at nine this morning.  
"How we doing?"  
Paul gave a slight shrug. "Not very well" he whispered.  
John cleared his throat. He'd really been hoping that Paul would be the home maker of the two of them as he wasn't that way inclined. He'd been really spoilt having Ritchie. Well ... maybe Paul would be ... eventually. Probably not just yet.  
"So ... what's the most important thing?"  
Paul frowned slightly, not understanding.  
"In the flat"  
"Oh" Paul phrased the word slowly as if to gain more thinking time.  
"Well ... come bedtime what are we gonna wanna do?"  
Comprehension dawned. "Oh! Go to bed."  
John's grin this time was sincere, and he gave Paul's shoulders a squeeze. "Go to bed, yeah. So ... where is the duvet, the pillows and the bed linen you bought?"  
Paul wriggled out of John's hold and scurried across the room to unopened bags. "Here. I've not unpacked it yet. Shall I make the bed up?"  
Count to ten, John cautioned himself. Patience. Patience. Brightly he replied. "Excellent idea."  
Encouraged Paul began ripping open the carefully sealed bags.  
Slowly, John warned himself. Paul had enough worries as it was after the way things had gone downhill with Luke. He was going to need every ounce of patience he had ... and heaven knew, that wasn't much.  
"So ... I'll pop to the shop and get anything we might have forgotten. Anything else you can think of?"  
Paul paused, glancing up at John, his dark hair falling messily into his eyes. "I ... I dunno." There was a pause. "I won't know until we need it."  
Some logic there, John thought wryly. He was about to make a witty comment when the doorbell rang.  
Paul froze.  
"Who could that be?" John murmured to himself. "Do you wanna ...???"  
Paul was already furiously shaking his head.  
John nodded ..."Ah ... okay. Shall I?"  
The furious shake became a furious nod.  
Halfway across the room John suddenly remembered "Hey, Jacob said they had CCTV so you can see who's at the door. Remember?"  
Yes, Paul did ... but he wasn't sure if he could trust technology. People might ... hide, or something.  
He stared wordlessly at John.  
"Okay ... I'll go, don't worry .."  
John glanced at the camera. "Jeez ... it's Ritchie and Lottie" Two faces were looking around, glancing up at the camera, chatting away, clutching bags.

In one moment they were there, in the room. Paul breathed out, sure he'd been holding his breath. It was so good to see them.  
"What y' doing 'ere?" enquired John jovially. "Missin' us already?"  
Ritchie shoved him on the shoulder. "Nah. We've come to help."  
Lottie's eyes were already sweeping the chaos. She swiftly ditched her cardigan and tied an apron round her waist, mentally sorting things.  
"First things first" She glanced at Paul who was still standing, bemused, amongst piles of bed linen. "Shall we get the bed made up, Paul, so at least you can sleep tonight?"  
"Ah, that's what I suggested" crowed John triumphantly.  
Lottie shot him a look. "Well, why don't you and Ritchie try getting the kitchen sorted then. So at least you can sleep and eat."  
"What about the, er, the other?" John was grinning.  
"What?"  
John pointed in the direction of the bathroom. "Paul forgot to get soap and toilet rolls."  
"If that's all Paul forgot then he's doing very well" Lottie said pointedly, and Paul squirmed, flushing at the unexpected praise and casting a sly glance at John to see if he'd heard.

With two extra pair of hands the flat was sorted, crockery and cutlery and pans in place, bathroom well-stocked with all the items Paul hadn't thought about, bed made up, and just after eight the four of them sat down at the table to a lasagne that Lottie had made earlier. Conversation was muted as they were all tired, but a feeling of elation surrounded them at the thought they had accomplished everything.  
"First day running the shop on your two own tomorrow then" said Ritchie, raising a glass of lager to the pair.  
"Scary" responded John.  
Paul didn't reply.  
John turned to look at him.  
He'd fallen asleep at the table, head at the side of his plate, strands of dark hair trailing in the remnants of left-over sauce, breathing soft and even.  
Lottie was trying very hard to stifle her laughter and not wake him.  
Ritchie looked at a resigned John and shrugged.  
"He does this a lot, doesn't he." It was a statement.  
John gave a wry grin. "Just a bit."

"Morning!!"  
"Ugh?? " John struggled from a particularly comfortable sleep, peeling his bleary eyes open, to be greeted by Paul with a wide smile and a .. a ... oh my God ... a mug of tea ... that was ... fucking amazing!  
John squirmed out of the duvet, summoning his energy, so that he could give Paul the response his expectant attitude was hoping for.  
"Tea? TEA!! For ME??"  
Paul nodded enthusiastically, some of the tea splashing over the clean covers. John captured it quickly before any more spilt.  
"Wowee ... is this the new regime then?"  
Paul settled back on his heels to watch John drink and frowned.  
"Regime?"  
"Yeah. You getting up to make tea?"  
Oh! Paul wasn't too sure about that. He twiddled his fingers thoughtfully. He'd thought it would be a nice thing to do ... first morning ... make John tea ... but he wasn't sure he wanted it as a permanent commitment.   
"Erm .. er ... not sure ... I can try!" he added hopefully, at the same time not sounding too certain.  
John groped blindly on the bedside table for his glasses. He couldn't see a fucking thing without them, much less gauge Paul's reaction to his teasing. Ah .. that was better. Paul ceased being a milky blob and transformed into ... well ... something John hoped he would wake up to every morning. He licked his lips. Paul was watching him, slightly hesitant. He was never quite sure what John might .. do ... or say ... and he was subject to a lot of teasing.  
"Sleep well, did you?" John enquired politely.  
Paul nodded, frowned, then nodded again. That was an innocent enough enquiry, he could cope with that.  
But there was something ... he twitched nervously, and his brow creased in a frown again.  
What had they done yesterday? Apart from move into the flat?  
His mind began the slow churning of the previous day's events, sifting and sorting. Was there something he'd not done? Done? He chewed his lip.  
John could see all this going on and tried to hide his smile. He loved winding Paul up.  
"Showered yet?" he enquired politely.  
Paul was perched on the bed in yesterday's boxers so John knew the answer would be no.  
Paul shook his head. No, not yet.  
"Hmm." John sipped the tea and glanced again at Paul. "Thought not. So .. are you saving this for later?"  
He reached forward and touched a piece of dark hair that was curling over Paul's ear ... the same one that had been curling on the day of their wedding. Paul was deciding he'd better get used to it ... it was obviously going to curl now.  
Was that what John was on about? The curl? Paul's fingers tentatively touched where John had and he found a rather stiff mess there. He frowned, his fingers exploring further. Had John just ... had John???  
"What have you put on it?" he asked accusingly.  
John shrugged and continued to drink his tea. "I haven't put anything on it, love."  
"Well, what's this, then?"  
"Last night's tea?" John suggested drolly.   
He saw Paul's hesitation ... a dawning realisation ... a blush of colour ... "Ohhh ... Ohhh .."  
Paul patted his hair again exploratively. "I ... I fell asleep ..."  
Keeping his face straight, John nodded. "Uh huh."  
"In my tea????"  
"Uh huh."  
"Oh."  
Silence. Thinking.  
"Did you put me to bed?"  
"Uh huh."  
"Oh."  
"Advantage of living in a flat ... no stairs to carry you up."  
"You carried me?"  
"Uh huh. Well .. Ritchie had your feet."  
"Oh." Paul went redder. He chewed a fingernail then remembered John was trying to stop him having that habit, so he extracted it quickly and sat on his hand.  
"What, er ... what did Lottie say?" A tentative enquiry.  
John took another sip of tea. "Lottie didn't say anything. She was too busy laughing."  
"Oh."  
Paul was visibly squirming.  
John hid his grin in the mug. "An' I was thinking ... well, three days married and we haven't even had it off yet because me husband keeps going to sleep on me."  
Paul swiftly sat on both his hands. The temptation was too much.  
"Oh."  
John placed his empty mug on the bedside table.  
"So ..." he suddenly reached forward and wrestled an unsuspecting Paul down onto the bed. "I'm about to remedy that. Okay??"  
Paul's eyes twinkled. "Okay" he agreed breathily.


	53. Chapter 53

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Early married life ..... enjoy!

It was with a feeling of elation and palpable relief that they turned the shop sign to 'Closed' that first Tuesday night and slid seamlessly into each other's arms, breathing a sigh of relief.  
"We've done it" John murmured into the shell of Paul's ear.  
The younger man simply nodded.

John was aware of the challenges the day had presented to his husband. Without there being two available to serve all the time ... after all, bodily needs occurred!! ... Paul had been forced to answer the phone. Something he flatly refused to do unless he really had to ... John had never, ever fathomed out why. But he had answered the phone today when John had just popped to the loo. And managed it quite successfully. And taken a message. John was proud of him, although he was not going to be so patronising as to comment on the fact.

"How was the teaching?"  
Paul shuddered. "Last one needs to learn to practice. They seem to think I can wave a magic wand and it will just happen."  
John was only half listening. The other half of his mind was thinking about tea and what they should have to eat and what a great lovemaking session it had been that morning and could they maybe start every day like that.  
He felt Paul shift backwards from his arms, an accusing look on his face.  
"You're not listening to me are you, Johnny?"  
John wiggled his eyebrows. "Yes I am love, I'm just also thinking about what we're gonna have to eat. Don't have the luxury of Ritchie cooking any more."  
Paul's heart sank. He loved Ritchie's cooking. He made all the kind of things Paul liked. Sausage and mash. Pie. What he would term 'stacking' food. And he was hungry. Now John had mentioned it, he was definitely hungry.  
John saw Paul's face fall, and he sympathised. He too would like someone to just shove a meal in front of him.  
"We could have a pizza?" John suggested. Quick, easy ; one pre-made in their freezer. He'd purchased it in anticipation of such a time.  
Paul's response was somewhat luke-warm. "Yeah ... I guess."  
"What would you like, then? If you could choose .."  
John knew the answer.  
"Sausage and mash..."  
"Sausage and mash..."  
He voiced it along with Paul, and they both burst out laughing.  
"You are so predictable" John chuckled.  
Paul sobered up. "Yeah, but ... not possible is it?"  
"Um .. the Three Barrels do it .. we could go there."  
"We can't afford it."  
"Yes we can Paulie. Occasionally, anyway."  
Paul chewed his lip, torn.   
He really fancied sausage and mash.  
"We can't afford it every night, John."  
"Well, we'll make this a special occasion then."  
"And what is the reason?"  
"We've made it through our first day on our own?" suggested John with a quizzical smile.  
Paul's smile was uncertain, and John could see the doubt in his eyes.  
Paul worried about the money, John knew that, even though he never said. And despite the fact he was earning a reasonable amount with his teaching. But Paul didn't really understand money in some ways ... all he understood was the lack of it. And what the lack of it forced people to do. Therefore he was cautious. Prudent.  
"Come on, Paul" John coaxed "Just this once. It won't break the bank."  
"I ... I dunno, John ... it won't stay at just once, will it? It'll become a habit." Paul was fidgeting, uncomfortable.  
"Look, I'll pay."  
"But it's both our money ... I mean .." Paul frowned, impatient with his lack of cohesion "I meant .. " he tutted to himself " what I'm trying to say is .. the money ... it's ours. What's yours is mine and vice versa ... " he paused, unsure " isn't it?"

They hadn't really discussed money, John realised. Prior to taking over the business they'd each been paid a wage ... John's had been a stable if not lucrative income, but Paul's ... well ... originally taken on out of the goodness of Rob's heart, he'd only been able to manage the minimum wage for the younger man, but the teaching side had been so successful that Paul's wages had increased ... and he'd saved, John knew that. Even if it was under the mattress!! For Paul security meant hard cash, not a figure on a bank statement. And not for the first time John was struck by the fact Paul was incredibly naive and unaware over things that most people took for granted. And he would worry ... John was prepared for that fact ... he would worry himself to death over them earning enough to live on and pay the bills and keep the business going ... despite the fact that he efficiently kept the books and could see what was going in. The real problem was that Paul didn't understand the value of money ... and because he'd been so deprived of it when he was younger, and then had any control over income removed from him when he was with Luke, Paul's whole concept of finances was very skewed. This was something he would need to guide Paul through, John realised. 

John submitted gracefully. No sense in causing conflict.  
He gave Paul's arms a brisk rub.  
"Okay. Yeah, you're right, it is OUR money now. Although you are allowed some pocket money for a chocolate bar now and then, y' know."  
The relief in Paul's hazel eyes was palpable.  
"But ... " John cautioned, holding up a finger " it still doesn't solve the problem of tonight's meal."  
"I'll have the pizza" Paul said quickly.  
"You sure?"  
"Uh huh. I'd love pizza."  
John's smile was sceptical. "Really? That wasn't your reaction a minute ago. Okay, pizza it is then. But, Paul .. we can afford to eat out occasionally, y'know. We're far from being broke, particularly with all the teaching you do."  
Paul's sideways glance at John was unsure, and John let the topic drop. He shoved Paul in the direction of the flat stairs.  
"Go on ... chill us a couple of beers and I'll get the oven on. Tea in no time, yeah?"  
Paul smiled. "Yeah."

After what was a particularly uninspiring meal of a ready made cardboard tasting pizza John made a decision. In order to relieve Paul of unnecessary worry he really needed to start educating him in the practicalities of life. Decision made, John looked forward with an unexpected thrill to the challenge ... although the young man in the kitchen currently washing up the pots had no idea that his husband had made this decision. In fact he was blissfully unaware that any decision about anything concerning him had been made. He was far too busy composing a new tune in his head and trying to decide if it would sound better on piano or guitar. He rolled the melody around in his head a few more times. Hmm ... probably piano. In fact, he could nip downstairs now and try it out. Decision made, Paul swiftly finished washing up and cleaned off the counters.  
That was two contrasting decisions.  
John was busy boiling the kettle for a cup of tea for them each and trying to remember where he had put the spare paper and pencils so he and Paul could list their outgoings as opposed to their income.  
Paul was wondering where he'd put the spare manuscript paper so he could jot his ideas down even if only in a vague attempt to pin down the tune.

"Paul, come and sit ..."  
"I'm just popping down to ...."  
They halted, confused.  
"What?"  
"Pardon?"  
They really had to get out of the habit of speaking at the same time all the while.  
John snorted in amusement. His hands were busy holding two mugs of tea so he nodded in the general direction of their table.  
"Go an' sit down an' have this. I'm just gonna find some paper and do a bit of homework with y' "  
Paul frowned. Homework? What kind of homework?? He really needed to get to a piano to ...  
"Accounts" John said, seeing the frown. "Our accounts."  
Of course Paul immediately thought John meant shop accounts, not their own personal accounts.  
He felt pulled. He really wanted to go to the piano ... his fingers were itching, feeling the chords ... but if John said accounts, then ... it must be important. Maybe this was something they had to do every night now they were running the shop. Hiding his disappointment he slid into one of the chairs at the dining table and John slid into the one beside him, shoving over a mug of tea and pulling towards him a scrap of blank paper. A bit tatty but it was all he could find.  
"Right" said John, sounding very definite. "Let's do a budget."  
"Budget?"  
"Yeah. What we've got coming in and what we need to pay the bills and what is likely to be left for us to live on."  
Paul blinked, running John's sentence through his head again. Coming in, going out, live on. He thought. It sounded like that, anyway.  
"Er, yeah, okay." Was this anything to do with the shop, he wondered? Was this something extra to the accounts he already did? Maybe he should know that already. Maybe John expected him to know. He chewed his lip. He didn't ... know ... that is. And wasn't sure. And ... and ... he had that tune in his head ...  
He found John was watching him closely, mouth in a smile but eyes serious.  
Oh shit.  
He'd better buckle down then and do this.  
He summoned up a megawatt smile that was so bright it blinded John.  
"Yeah, okay."  
Now it was John's turn to frown. He hadn't expected Paul to be so co-operative.  
"Er, right, yeah." John pulled himself together, took a sip of tea (to calm himself) and fingered the pencil thoughtfully, suddenly not sure how to begin. He stared at the paper hoping it might present him with a solution. It didn't. In fact his mind went completely blank on how to proceed.  
"Er .... so ... the shop. Erm ... outgoings. Money we know we have to have on one side. "  
Paul was watching him intently.  
That was rather disconcerting.  
John wasn't being very clear.  
To Paul that was disconcerting. Because if he didn't understand then he wouldn't be able to do it ... whatever 'it' was.  
Come on John, he silently encouraged himself.  
"Well ... what we need." He cleared his throat. He noticed that people about to make an important statement tended to do that, and he thought maybe it would make him sound more in charge. "So ...." The paper looked back at him, blank. Oh fuck! Maybe he should give the paper and pencil to Paul and let him sort it. After all it was for him that he was going through this.  
"Here" John shoved the paper across and Paul looked at it in alarm as if it might bite. "You do it."  
"Do ... do ... what??" Paul could feel his heart beating faster ... thrum ... thrum ... he couldn't handle this.  
"I ... I can't do it Johnny!!"  
"Do what?"  
Paul gestured at the innocent piece of, by now, even more crumpled paper. "That!"  
"Of course you can. You do it all the time." John really wanted to pass the buck now. He knew he couldn't do it.  
"No I don't. I've never done it. I don't know what it is you want me to do." Paul flung his arm wide in a futile gesture and his mug of tea went flying.  
John leapt to his feet, scurrying quickly into the kitchen for a tea towel. He turned to discover Paul was close on his heels with a determined look on his face.  
"Where y' goin'?" John demanded.  
"Out" said Paul shortly.  
He didn't look in the kind of mood to be stopped. John took a step back, conscious of the tea dripping slowly off the table.  
"Out?" he queried.  
Paul nodded, his face a set mask. "Out."  
"Where out?" queried John, clutching the tea towel even tighter. He didn't know whether to be more concerned about the dripping tea or his husband who seemed to be about to walk out on him.  
"The garden." Paul's reply was brisk.  
John took a step back out of his way. "Oh."

The garden. Paul had a thing about the garden. It was as if he couldn't believe they had one and had to keep popping out to check it was still there. Any second of free time and he'd be in it, poking amongst the flower beds, watching the sky, listening to the birds.  
"Oh" John said again, watching the tall figure disappear through the door.  
He went and mopped up the spilt tea. Thanked heaven that it was a laminate floor and not a carpet. Then he sat down with a tea stained tea towel ... was that why they were called that? John mused ... and looked at the piece of blank paper and the abandoned pencil. Well, that went well.

John polished the table ... fortunately the tea hadn't been hot enough to cause too much damage ... polished the floor ... threw the tea towel for the wash .... did a general tidy round. Giving Paul time to get himself together. Giving himself time to get himself together as well. Finally he headed down the stairs. The smell of a summer evening drifted through on the air as he headed towards the open door where Paul was sitting on the back door step, long legs stretched out in front of him. He didn't acknowledge John's arrival but there was a slight shift of his body as John lowered himself to sit beside him. John recognised that face. That expression. That closed look.   
He sighed.  
"Paul?"  
Paul blinked, eyes fixated on .. on .. John peered into the gathering dusk ... on a clump of ... weeds?  
"Weeds?"  
Paul turned to look at John, and a tiny smile touched his face. "That's what I was thinking."  
John smiled back. "Do we need to employ a gardener?"  
He was joking.  
Paul thought he was serious and the smile dropped quickly. "We can't afford one. I'll do it."  
Back to square one, John thought.  
He sighed again and stretched his legs out to match Paul's. Except they didn't. Not really. Paul had such gorgeous long legs ... John followed the line of them, imagining running his fingers up them. He could feel the smoothness, the lean lines, and where they led, and ..  
"John?"  
John blinked. "Paul?"  
"What y' thinking about?"  
"Your legs."  
For a moment Paul was quiet, then he began chuckling. Then laughing. Then John started. They collapsed into each other's arms, unable to contain their mirth.  
"What was all that about?" Paul eventually asked, wiping the tears of laughter off his face.  
"What all what?" John snorted.  
Paul waved a hand airily around his head. "Upstairs. That paper. What the fuck did you want me to do?"  
John heaved an even bigger sigh. "I wanted to show you that we are okay for money. I thought that, if we made a list of our income, combined, and what we need to have on one side to pay, say, council tax and gas bills 'n' the like, you'd see that we don't have anything to worry about. That we can go out for a meal occasionally, an' we don't have to watch every penny."  
Paul was watching John wordlessly, eyes wide. John looked into his eyes.  
"You earn a fair bit, y'know" he said softly "with all that teaching y' do." He reached an arm around Paul's shoulders and twiddled with that bit of hair that was curling.  
"I could teach some more. I've got a waiting list" Paul said, a hint of smugness in the tone. The fact he could contribute, be useful, not a .. not a nothing.  
"That's up to you" said John, twirling that piece of hair, watching it spring back. "I just don't want you wearing y' self out, is all. But you earn more money than the shop brings in, d'you know?" John crossed, then uncrossed, his legs. He was getting a bit stiff sitting on the back door step. "Guess you did, eh?"  
Paul looked astonished. "No, actually, I didn't."  
"Oh!" now it was John's turn to be surprised. "Oh, right. I thought, as you did the books."  
"I do the books for the shop, John. Not my teaching. Jacob did those and always treated it as a separate entity."  
"Oh." John said again, digesting this information. "Oh, right. So ... " he shifted a bit nearer to Paul, relishing the warmth that body always exuded "So ... you don't know how much your teaching brings in then?"  
Paul shook his head, the curl springing back over his ear.   
Now it was John's turn to sound smug. "Well, let me tell you, son ... it's a fair bit."  
Paul ignored the term 'son' focusing instead on the rest of John's statement. "Really?"  
John nodded. "Really. Well, you'll be doing the books for all of it now, so I guess you'll see that. How did it work before?"  
Paul shrugged. "Jacob used to pay me in cash at the end of each week. He said he was putting some on one side towards the business and I could have the rest."  
"Did it not occur to you to ask?"  
Paul shrugged again. "No, not really. I trusted Jacob."  
A simple statement. That was it ... Paul was trusting. John knew, though, that Jacob had carefully invested the money back into the business on the understanding that when they took over it would provide the two of them with security. The bank balance that had been set up in their joint names was, thanks to Jacob, very healthy. But of course Paul, familiar with keeping accounts but not with banks, had not explored this eventuality yet.  
Feeling yet smugger, John leaned back and pulled Paul into his arms.  
"Let me tell you now, sweetie" he whispered into Paul's left ear "financially, with you on board, we have absolutely nothing to worry about."  
"Is that so?" Paul shivered at the gust of John's breath in his ear.  
"Uh huh. So much so that I insist I take my gorgeous husband out for a meal at least once a week least he fade away."  
Paul's elbow in his side was quite vicious and had no element of 'fade' in it. "I'm not gonna fade away. An' anyway, we shouldn't waste money, even if we have got it." Paul sounded somewhat dubious. Until he actually saw the columns of figures and knew for certain they were okay.  
"Feeding you is not a waste" John stated.  
Paul elbowed him again. "Why don't you take me Sainsbury's instead, or Aldi or summat? We can buy our own food and save money."  
"And who's gonna cook?"  
"Me."  
John leaned back out of Paul's arms and eyed him in astonishment. "You?"  
"Yeah, me. Well ... I'll have a go ... I can try!!" he jutted his chin out.  
John rolled his eyes. "Yeah, okay then, babe. Over to you."

John waited while Paul locked the back door. He'd offered to do it but Paul had been adamant that he was the one to lock up. It was quite a large old-fashioned key and the hook for it was on the wall at the bottom of the stairs, next to a rack for muddy boots and a tumble dryer. John folded his arms and watched Paul's routine ..... here two days and the lad already had a ritual. He locked up. He fingered the key. He checked the door to make sure it was locked. He hung up the key. He checked the door again. Then checked the key was hanging just so ... 'easy to grab hold of and get out if necessary' John thought wryly. Made him feel trusted ... ha ha!! He shifted his feet, biting back a cutting retort. He had to see it from Paul's point of view ... just had to. Had to allow space and room for odd behaviour.  
Paul's glance across at him was slightly sheepish, an unspoken apology for such weird behaviour.  
John simply threw him a wink. "Okay? All sorted?"  
Paul's nod was brief, embarrassed almost.   
But he'd had to do that. Had to work through the whole 'being able to get out' thing.  
He trusted John to understand that.  
John pushed himself off the bannister where he'd been leaning and slipped an arm around Paul, feeling the tenseness of the shoulders under his embrace.  
It took John a Herculean effort to respond correctly. It would be a lie to say he wasn't hurt by the lack of trust that Paul's action displayed, because he was. Like Paul trusted him so far but no further. He pushed down his feelings, quickly swamped any stupid, cutting remarks that would only upset Paul, and gave a gentle squeeze.  
He landed on something close to Paul's heart. "Why don't we make a shopping list?"  
Ah, yes. Paul's eyes lit up. He liked making lists. It made him feel he had some control over his life.  
"Yeah. Yeah, I'll do that why you chill with a cup of tea."  
John wondered briefly what a shopping list from Paul. who had never shopped for food in his life to John's knowledge, would appear like.  
"Sure." He gave Paul another squeeze. "Maybe let me check it over too, make sure you've not missed anything, eh? Then tomorrow, when we close up, we'll head round to the supermarket and stock up."  
"Uh huh. Sounds like a plan."

John turned on the nine o'clock news and relaxed back on the settee, relishing the softness of the cushions around his tired body, listening to his indefatigable partner as he opened cupboards, sorted shelves, investigated fridges and freezers, a murmured dialogue going on with himself as he made, crossed out, revised and organised a list on that bit of paper. That crumpled up bit of paper that had just escaped having tea spilt all over it. John had half an ear to Paul, the other half on the news. As the announcer was summing up the day's events Paul arrived at John's side, a big smile on his face, causing John to bounce slightly as he landed heavily beside him.  
"Look, I've done it."  
A by now very screwed up piece of paper was presented to John.  
"That's nice, dear" said John patronisingly.  
Paul thumped him on his ribs.  
"No, stop it. Look, I've done it. You said you wanted to look."  
"And I do .. but .. " John squinted at the list. It had been changed so many times, crossed out, tiny writing filling corners .. " I'll need me fucking glasses to see that, Paul."  
Paul frowned at it. Yes, it might look confusing but ... well, he could follow it. He guess that was because he'd done it.  
"You could write it out again a bit tidier." John suggested.  
Paul pouted. That would be a waste of effort and paper. And boy, could that lad pout.  
John hid his smile. "Tell y' what, go an make me another cup of tea an' I'll check it over ... " He felt Paul's sidelong glance at him " ... just make sure there's nothing you've missed ..."  
"I've put toilet rolls on it..."  
"...or anything I want to add" John smoothed it over.  
He heard Paul give a little sigh, but he rose from the settee and went into the kitchen. While he listened to the sound of the kettle boiling, John glanced at the crumpled paper in his grasp, and his heart skipped a beat.  
That tiny writing, filling every space, written at odd angles to use every bit of available room ... Paul's notebook.  
John hadn't thought about it for ages, but now it was back there, in front of his eyes. All those names. And John realised, with a lurch, that Paul had probably brought it with him. What else would he have done? Thrown it away? John reckoned that was highly unlikely ... yet, anyway.  
"What d'you think?"  
Paul was there, standing with a freshly made mug of tea for John, his eyes anxious, wanting to get things right.  
John forced a smile. "Hey, y' know what? I'm a bit tired, an' it's goin' over me head. We'll take it with us an' if there's anything more we need I'm more likely to remember while we're actually there."  
A faint smile touched Paul's face, and he perched carefully next to John, handing over the mug cautiously.  
"I'm a bit tired too" he admitted.  
John turned to look at the face that was near his.  
"Are you?" he asked softly.  
Paul nodded.  
John wrapped his arm around the young man's shoulders and drew him close.  
"That's two of us, then, innit?"

As Paul showed the last student out of the door just after six the following evening, John was ready and waiting with a couple of shopping bags and Paul's very screwed up list, which he handed over to the younger man with a wry smile.  
"Figured you'd be better at deciphering this than me. Y' ready, or d'you want to stop for a drink first?"  
Paul ran his fingers through his hair in an attempt to tidy it. He felt a bit dishevilled after most of the day rooting around in the back of the shop sorting out long-abandoned boxes of records followed by two hours of teaching, but figured if he didn't go straight out he might not get round to it. And, after all, it had been his idea to shop and try to be self-sufficient ... though heaven knew he'd no idea what he was doing.  
"No, I'll go straight out."  
He probably didn't sound over-enthusiastic as he noticed a sympathetic expression cross John's face.  
"I don't mind. Honest" he added earnestly.  
John shrugged. "Tell y' what. We'll pick up something that we can just re-heat tonight an' we'll stop at the pub for a quickie on the way back. How's that?"  
Paul's throat watered at the idea of a chilled lager. "Sounds good."

So here they were in the vegetable aisle of their local Sainsbury's with Paul ruminating over a cou[ple of aubergines. Well, he'd cooked stuffed aubergine once, hadn't he, for George's birthday? Maybe he could improve on it. It had tasted alright. John had wandered in the direction of rather luscious looking strawberries. Not on Paul's list but, then again, he wouldn't have thought about them being in season, would he. 

The trolley had quite an impressive array of salad items, even if some were ready made bistro ones. John had popped in some coleslaw too. After all, if they were gonna have salad they had to have something on it. Nice tomatoes ... John was deciding between them when he heard a voice say "Paul!"  
John glanced up from the tomatoes, eyes narrowing. Paul had frozen and John could tell from the blank look on Paul's face that he had no idea who the older guy was. A family with a trolley weaved their way around Paul and the guy and for a second John lost sight of his partner. He put the tomatoes back down and scurried across just as he heard the man say "It is Paul, isn't it? Paul McCartney?"  
Panic was plain on Paul's face and John slid his arm around him and faced the man.  
"No, it's Paul Lennon, actually. I'm his husband. Who are you?"  
The guy in his early thirties coloured slightly, alarmed by John's challenging stance, and stammered a "Sorry, must be mistaken. Sorry."  
He'd gone in a trice, lost in the crowds of shoppers.  
Paul was still frozen, knuckles white on the trolley.  
"Paul?"  
He swallowed, blinked, and looked at John from huge eyes.  
"You okay, love?"  
A nod, but he didn't look it. He looked shaken.  
"Did you know that person?"  
A pause ... a headshake. No, no. Never seen him before ... never ...  
"Excuse me!" a woman's voice interrupted them.  
"Sorry love" John steered the trolley with Paul still gripping it tightly out of the way of those wanting to get to the aubergines and courgettes and peppers, and off to the side.  
"He knew your surname" John said quietly. John was only too aware that very few had actually even been aware of Paul's name, let alone his surname. "Maybe it was someone from school? Someone who taught you, or something? Hmm?"  
Paul was chewing his lip, staring at his feet. It was as if he'd lost all his momentum.  
John was angry. He had no idea who that person was, who he'd been, and it could have been completely innocent, but Paul would automatically assume not. And in that moment John felt Paul's despair ... that inability to escape from his past. Dig him out of it, he could hear George's voice in his head ... don't let him dwell on things.  
"So ... I was looking at the tomatoes .." John started "and wondered did you have a preference?"  
Paul blinked, astonished ... in fact, for a moment, lost. Disorientated. He'd forgotten he was in Sainsbury's shopping.  
"Tomatoes?"  
John waved his hand in the direction. "Vine ones, salad ones, cherry ones, or baby plum ones? I mean ... you put down 'tomatoes' ... didn't know there were so many fucking kinds."  
John was trying to keep it light, move on, and Paul appreciated that. He surreptitiously swiped a finger under his eyes, gave himself a mental shake, took a deep breath to steady his voice and said, determinedly "Vine ones, please."


	54. Chapter 54

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Early married life ... thanks for the comments ... always appreciated.   
> There's been some amazing writing going on on A03 lately ... I don't know whether it's inspired me or made me feel incapable!! ... hopefully the former ... but there are some cracking writers out there.

"That's forty three pounds and twenty six pence love. You paying by cash or card?"  
John glanced across at Paul but the lad still wasn't quite with it, his eyes unfocused.  
"Er ... card, ta."  
"Have you got a nectar card?"  
John patted his pockets. They did have, didn't they, somewhere? Or was it Ritchie's they normally used? Was that what he was thinking of?  
"Erm, yeah .. somewhere. Not with me, though."  
The cashier was completely nonplussed by a disorganised John and the guy with him who seemed to be on another planet completely.  
She indicated the card reader and spouted off the usual " well keep hold of your receipt and you can add the points on on-line or just bring it back in here with the card and take it to customer services and they'll do it for you. Okay? Have a nice day ..."  
She'd already dismissed them out of her mind.  
John was tempted to point out they couldn't have a nice day because it was already turned seven and day had almost finished, but one look at Paul's tired face and he took the trolley and Paul's hands in one movement and steered them out of the store. Behind him he could hear the cashier putting on her 'next voice' to the next customer. 'Hello, do you need any bags?....'

The air was fresh with a taste of salt in it, and ruffled their hair as they lifted the bags from the trolley. Trying to hide his concern, John glanced under his lashes at Paul.  
"Y'okay? Still fancy that drink?"  
He could swear Paul jumped ... he was miles away. John watched him gather his thoughts together.  
"Oh .. er .. " he knew what was coming. It was written all over Paul's face. "...I'm not that bothered, really ... just ... wanna go home and have something to eat ..." Paul trailed off sheepishly and John added the rider ' and hide away'.  
He pushed down his disappointment. He'd been looking forward to a drink. Looking forward to taking Paul out somewhere.  
John sighed ... that didn't go unnoticed by Paul who shot a swift glance at him ... "Yeah, okay. Let's get the bus."  
Bus? It was only two stops and the bags weren't that heavy ...  
"Bus? Why? We can walk it almost as quickly."  
John put the bags down at his feet and looked closely at Paul.  
"You're tired" he stated, leaving no room for denial.  
Colour suffused Paul's face. "No I'm not..."  
"Well you don't want to go for a drink.." John was pushing.  
Paul's glance flickered away, gazing at unseen things on the horizon.  
Silence stretched.  
Paul shoved his hands in his jacket pocket, not meeting John's penetrative stare. "I just wanna go home, John." His voice was quiet, stubborn, admitting the fact.  
It was a plaintive request. John sighed again and hefted the two bags up. "Okay. Home it is, and we walk."  
He set off determinedly, and Paul quickly picked up the other two bags and set off in hot pursuit.  
He knew John was disappointed, not going for a drink. He felt guilty. Not going for a drink, making John walk ... but he couldn't get the guy that had spoken to him out of his mind. Who was he? Who the fuck was he? Paul tried to tell himself he was being irrational as he struggled to keep up with John ... and that was another thing. John was annoyed. Paul knew he was, otherwise he wouldn't be walking so fast, as if he was expelling his demons. John must be annoyed at him. His fault. Paul chewed his lip, panting to keep up. This was ridiculous ... he had longer legs than John ... he shouldn't be ... shouldn't be lagging ...  
Paul stopped, dumping the bags at his feet, and watched his husband stride into the distance.  
Frustration twisted in his gut.  
Who had that man been?   
He could recall some faces. But not many. They all became a blur ... that's if he'd even seen them in the first place.   
He wished ... he wished .. he wished he was normal. Not full of hang-up's.   
He scuffed the toe of one of his shoes unthinkingly across the pavement and watched a beetle scurry over the cracks, heedless of the fact it could get trodden on, it's life snuffed out, at any moment. One unthinking step by someone ... uncaring ...  
.... it dodged round a pebble and disappeared into the weed ridden crack ...  
... Paul gave a sigh of relief ...  
.... hide away ... stay safe ... people were dangerous ...  
"Paul?"  
He jerked his head up, for one second totally disorientated, to see John standing in front of him, a quizzical frown on his face, sturdy 'bags for life' clutched in his hands.  
"Are you okay?"  
Stupid question, John chided himself even as the words slipped off his tongue.  
He put his bags down by Paul's and took a deep breath.  
Obviously Paul was having some kind of personal trauma at the moment.  
Obviously it was because of that guy recognising him.  
Whoever he was.  
Of course he wasn't okay.  
And Paul was eyeing John cautiously, as if not sure how John would respond.  
Bring it down ... bring it down ... normality ...  
"Need some help with those bags?"  
Paul blinked slowly. Bags? Bags???  
John nodded towards Paul's feet and his first thought was that someone had trod on the beetle.  
Oh ... bags! Those bags.  
He shook his head ... no.   
John's smile was rather forced. "Well, shall we head home then?"  
Home.  
Paul nodded. Home sounded good.  
Safe.  
He picked up the bags and fell into step next to John.  
No more beetles crossing the pavement. No more guys in the vegetable aisle.   
Just home. Now.

Paul was conscious only of matching his steps to John's ... a steady rhythm. One two three four. One two three four.  
Steps in four time. Reels. Marches.   
He tried to ignore the cacophony of pictures his mind was trying to replay.  
Step two three four.  
He hoped there were no more beetles trying to cross the pavement. He didn't think he'd be able to dodge them, and he'd hate to be responsible for ending a life.  
Up two three four.  
So ... maybe he should tread on the cracks instead.  
Just a minute .. can't do that. Don't tread on the cracks. If you tread on a crack you'll go down to the bears!!  
An old memory of dodging the cracks while holding the hand of his brother flashed like a photo into his mind. At the same time his feet did an uneven step .. a sort of two two three four to avoid a crack .. and he stumbled slightly.  
One two three four. Get back into the rhythm.  
Don't think about beetles.  
Or Mike.  
Or bears and cracks.  
Or strange guys who want to say 'hello'.  
Just focus on keeping in step with Jo ......

"Who the fuck's that?"  
John's voice dragged him from wherever he was ... he didn't really know ... and propelled him into the present.  
He looked up, following John's stare. Blimey, they were almost home. There was the shop, just across the road, and sitting on their doorstep was some guy. Some random .. random ??? ... not random ...  
Paul dropped his bags and shot across the street, ignoring the blast of a horn and the curse of a driver who had to swerve to miss him.  
Paul never noticed.

"George!!!"  
The 'random' guy rose at the sound of Paul's feet and just about managed to catch the young man who catapulted into his outstretched arms.  
George was immediately enveloped in the smell of Paul.  
Paul was immediately enveloped in the distinct aroma of spices.  
Warily George returned Paul's exuberant stranglehold, and looked over the young man's shoulder at John who approached them, attempting to carry four laden shopping bags.  
George hoped all was well. Such an enthusiastic greeting as that meant Paul was .. well, maybe, just a little .. not quite himself? Not tired of married life already?  
John gave a wry smile.  
Mmm .. looked like something had happened.  
"Well, well, look who's here. Thought you were a tramp taken up residence on our shop doorway" John quipped, dumping the bags down.  
"Aye, well, ..." George was acutely aware of Paul's relentless hold on him still. Made him feel slightly awkward, particularly with John facing him and the fact he didn't know ... wasn't quite sure ... where to put his hands. He left them fastened loosely around Paul's waist as it seemed pretty obvious that the lad wasn't yet about to let go."I .. er .. you were out. When I came. Figured I'd hang on till you came back, assuming you would. Come back, that is."  
John's sharp eye travelled critically over the embrace.  
"Someone's glad to see y'" John muttered under his breath.  
George felt colour flood his face and he tried, gently, to ease Paul off him.  
"Always was demonstrative" George stated, easing the situation.  
Paul stepped back, his eyes devouring George, as if he'd not seen him for ... for ... how long?  
"Five days, Paul" John said drily, fumbling in his pockets for a key. Having found it, he looked up again at George, eyes calculating. "What y' doin' here then?"

For a moment George wished he'd not acted on impulse.  
He had thought of texting one of them, saying he had a night off, but he thought it would be a surprise.  
If he made a curry. Packed it up in some Tupperware boxes.  
Brought it over.  
He'd acquired some beers too on his way.  
Maybe he should have let them know.  
After all, John could be very possessive of Paul.  
Should have checked.

George indicated the bag that was sitting near their doorstep.  
"Brought you a meal. Thought you might be glad of something."   
There was a spark of emotion in John's eyes. Surprise? Remorse?  
"I have tonight off, but .. well, I don't have to stay. Don't want to intrude, like."  
George threw the ball into John's court.  
Unaware of any tension, Paul almost bounced on his feet.  
"Food?? That's fab. You have to stay ... don't be stupid. Come on .. I'll carry these up. " Paul swept up George's bag and one of the shopping bags, almost tipping the contents in his haste to capture George least he decide not to stay. " It's great to see you ... how y' been? We've been getting things done, y' know, an' trying to do some food shopping. so .. well, that's why ..."  
George was hit with a barrage of words, and next to him John raised an amused eyebrow, indicating George should enter. He followed Paul and was aware of John behind him.   
Strongly aware of the fact he was in because of Paul.  
Taking a deep breath as he clambered the stairs behind a non-stop babble he hoped all was well.  
As he was only too strongly aware having Paul around could be an emotional roller-coaster ride, and this was the first time John had had to deal with everything himself. No Ritchie to call on in the middle of the night if things went awry.

Paul's endless chatter went on even as they entered the flat, kicking off their shoes on the way in, dumping bags on work surfaces.  
" ... so he asked me how d'you play this? and I said, well, it's something called practice, an' he looked at me like I was off another planet an' said ' on what' an' I said 'wha' d'you mean, on what?' an' he said, ' I mean, what do I practice on?' an' I said ' y' guitar, of course' an' he looked at me in all seriousness an' said 'but I don't have one?' an' I said ' don't have what?' an' he said 'I don't have ...."  
John reached across and slapped his hand over Paul's mouth.  
"Babe, just shurrup a minute, yeah?"  
Paul's eyes widened.  
Cautiously John moved his hand away, prepared to replace it quickly if necessary.  
Paul chewed his lip, thinking. Then "Am I talking too much?"  
John snorted "Just a bit, love."  
George's shoulders shook with silent laughter. "Love it" he chuckled. "I sorta miss that McCartney maelstrom of words."   
John glanced at him, a twinkle in his eye. "Not McCartney anymore, George."  
A gentle rebuff.  
George shrugged. "Sorry."  
"Not a problem. Let's get this stuff unpacked then, shall we? Ere, Paul, stick kettle on an' make George a cuppa."  
George was waving his hands, preventing Paul doing so. "No, no, I have beers, chilled. Got one o' them ice thingies to keep 'em cold. Why don't we open them an' when you're ready I'll microwave the meal."   
Identical smiles split John and Paul's faces and George wondered what they'd been living on.  
"Sounds like a plan" said John, rubbing his hands together.

George stretched his hands contentedly above his head, flexing his fingers. It was comfortable on the spacious settee. A lovely home they had here, even if somewhat minimalist for his tastes. The meal had been welcome by all of them, and now Paul had gone out to 'check the garden' ??? and lock up. Paul's inane chatter had filled any silences during the meal, but now there was quiet. A companionable silence, and George felt comfortable in John's company, as if the older man had thawed out during the food and beers. He stretched again, lazily, his stomach satiated with food and beer, feeling dozy and warm. He glanced sideways at John, who was studying his own feet, the beginnings of a hole allowing a tiny bit of toe to poke out. George privately thought to himself that that was the kind of thing Paul would be good for ... doing odd repairs. Just don't ask him to cook. He chuckled to himself.  
"So, how are things going?" He asked the question innocently, yet maybe it was his subconscious that goaded him to do so.  
There was a pause. A shift in the atmosphere. Suspicion.  
"Why d'you ask?" John's voice had taken on that nasal quality that made George define himself.  
"Just, wondered ... is all ..." he replied lamely.  
Paul rushing into his arms like that had been reminiscent of a similar occasion over eighteen months ago, when something ... something between him and John ... had happened. When he'd been staying with Ritchie.   
John snorted. "Say what y' mean, Harrison."  
How was it that George, so placid, so calm, could get his buttons pushed by John? The anger that rose he swiftly damped down, but a high colour remained in his cheeks.  
"I worry about Paul."  
He hadn't meant to say that. It slipped out.  
But maybe it had been the right thing to say after all. George saw a flash of warmth, of understanding, in John's eyes, and suddenly the lion was a lamb.  
John ran a hand over his face. "Don't we all" he murmured softly.  
Something had happened then. The ground moved again and this time George was confident.  
"What happened?"  
John heaved a sigh. "Some guy in the supermarket recognised Paul."  
George raised his eyebrows. He thought that most were under arrest? Was that too much to hope for?  
"To be honest ..." John kept his eyes on his toes, wiggling the foot with the hole in the sock " ... I reckon it was innocent. He knew Paul's name.... including his surname..."  
George's eyebrows raised higher, quizzically. There was an air of puzzlement, and in that instant John realised that he probably knew more than George did.  
"He .. er .. Paul ..those men ..." he coughed awkwardly, his colour heightening. Frustrated, he waved a hand dismissively in the air, aware of George's eyes on him seeking enlightenment. John mumbled swiftly into his toes ... " they never knew his name, y'see .. he was just a .. a no one. A nothing."  
Yes, George did see. It was all patently clear. The last piece of jigsaw.   
"Oh." George winced, unsure of what to say. "I'm sorry. Y' could have done without that."  
John shrugged. "Well, Paul could. Thing is, George .... " and John looked up at him " I really do think it was probably completely innocent. It's just ... Paul froze, y'know? Thought the worst, I guess."  
"And most likely always will, at least for the foreseeable future."  
"Gee, thanks for that."  
"Sorry. I didn't ..."  
"S'okay, no offence taken. You're probably right."  
Silence ensued for a moment, each lost in their own thoughts.  
"So ... this garden???" George ventured.  
John chuckled. "Go and have a look if you like. Paul's obsessed with it. Not with actually doing anything, just .. looking at it. Like he can't believe he's got one."  
"I'd love one. Love the chance to grow some things."  
"Things? What kind of things?"  
"Anything" George shrugged. "Flowers, plants, vegetables. It's so relaxing. I used to help me dad when I was little ..."  
John pricked his ears up. He loved finding more out about his friends' childhoods ... and there might be a bit more on Paul he didn't know. This whole history unknown.  
" ... but never quite have the time now. Plus me da's got everything under control and I feel he just humours me."  
"Well ..." John had a brainwave " why don't y' help Paul do ours? He's no idea anyway an' I'm sure he'd welcome a hand."

"So .. there's this old apple tree. An' it's got blossom all over it, so I guess it'll produce something."  
George thoughtfully fingered a leaf on the tree Paul had pointed out.  
"Then... that clump over there ... I'm not sure if it's weeds or not. It's getting bigger but there's no flowers. An' then there's all these bluebells. They're gorgeous but taking over a bit. The lawns not much good, though. A bit patchy. I'd love to dig a corner of it up an' try growing something."  
"Something like what?"  
Paul blinked, thinking. "Oh, I dunno. Somethin' easy like ... potatoes. Yeah, potatoes."  
"Irish roots there showing through." George teased.  
"Maybe. I like potatoes though. An' they're easy to grow 'cos I remember me da .... "  
As the silence grew George thought he'd better jog Paul along.  
"Y' know I could come and help if you like? Help dig an' that. I don't get much time off at the weekend ... at least, not to coincide with you, but we could try for a Sunday morning?"  
Paul's face lit up. "Oh, yeah? That would be .. I could do us breakfast ... oh ..." Paul registered the look that flickered across George's face .. " ... maybe you'd prefer not?"  
They both turned at the sound of John chuckling.  
"Why don't I do us breakfast while you two get dirty out here?"

By the time George left it had been arranged that he would call round about ten on Sunday for a late breakfast and then he and Paul would attack the garden. Paul had already enthusiastically shown George the few gardening implements that were in the utility room that led into the garden, including an old-fashioned lawn mower.  
"I don't think they did much gardening" Paul whispered sotto voce to George.  
It had also been arranged that George would provide them with a meal once a week. He waved their thanks away with a dismissive hand.  
"It's no effort, honestly. For one I love cooking and there's always left overs at the restaurant. I can bring you some on Sunday and you can either have it that night or freeze it for later."  
A small frown creased Paul's brow. "Won't you come and share it with us?"  
George noticed that John glanced swiftly at Paul.  
Tread carefully, he told himself. "Sometimes, but I won't always be able to. It depends on my work schedule."  
"We need to get ourselves organised, babe" John said to Paul. "That's what married life''s all about, innit? Learning to function as a couple."  
Paul digested John's words with a slight frisson of fear. He had no idea why ... why should he? ... he loved John. John loved him.  
'You only need me. Nobody else. Just me.'  
The words that fell from Luke's tongue repeated in his memory, causing a shiver to run down his spine.   
If he closed his eyes he could still recall the occasion as the walls of the luxury apartment closed around him, becoming a prison.  
Stop it, he told himself firmly. Just stop it.  
He found both John and George were looking at him curiously.  
"Stop what?" John asked with a puzzled smile.  
Paul hadn't realised he'd spoken out loud.   
He blushed pink. "Stop .. stop ... " he searched for an excuse " .. stop ... being hopeless at cooking." He finished the last words in a rush and looked triumphantly at them.  
Oh!  
They looked ... dubious.  
He coloured even more and twiddled with his fingers and did that funny little shuffle dance with his feet.  
"Well ... amen to that!" laughed George, rescuing Paul from his dilemma.  
John smiled too, but cautiously.  
Maybe he'd been more affected by that guy in the supermarket than he'd let on.

John heaved a heartfelt sigh as he got ready for bed, throwing his sock across the floor of the bedroom to join his cast off t-shirt. The day hadn't panned out quite as he'd expected. He felt as if his equilibrium had been messed with and it was hard for him to pick up the threads again, and a tiny part of him worried that maybe life with Paul might not always go as planned. Promising to 'look after him' till death did them part was all very well and good if people didn't get in the way, unplanned, uninvited and unasked for. And no, he wasn't thinking of George. He was aware that he'd probably been less than welcoming but, to a certain extent, he felt he had something to prove ... to George, to Ritchie, to his aunt .... and, yeah, probably to Sean and Tom and Rob and Jacob and Steve and uncle Tom Cobley and all. Prove that he could handle Paul. He could be trusted to be there for him in all life's ups and downs. And today he felt he'd been tried and found wanting, and he was frustrated, because none of it had been his fault. If life had gone as planned they would have shopped, gone to a local pub for a beer, gone home, had the ready made meal John had thought to pick up, and then collapsed happy but tired into bed.  
He groaned as he yanked off his other sock and hurled it across the floor to join the other.

"Johnny?"  
Paul's sleepy voice brought him up short. John had thought he was asleep.  
He summoned a smile as he turned to see Paul surveying him from tired dark eyes peering from under the duvet.  
"You okay?" Paul asked, a small frown beginning to form.  
"Sure" John reassured him quickly. "Absolutely fine. Just knackered."  
"You .. you .. " a wide yawn suffocated Paul's words. He tried again. "You work too hard."  
John rolled his eyes. "I work too hard? Look at yourself, love. You're knackered too."  
This was the problem, wasn't it. Rob had warned him. Running a shop. Never any time to yourself. This was only the second day and they'd already discovered that it was difficult to schedule lunch and toilet breaks. Not that the shop was rammed all the time but there always had to be at least one in attendance. 'You may need to hire a help' Rob had advised. John had been sure they could do it on their own. Okay, they were only two days in and it was a learning curve, and it may improve, he told himself. But Paul looked shattered and he thought he probably didn't look much better.  
"We might have to think about hiring an assistant" John murmured.  
Paul's eyes widened. Let someone else into their tiny enclosed world? Someone he'd have to interact with on a daily basis maybe? That was ... disturbing. He wriggled so that he was leaning on his elbows. "Hire someone else?"  
"Maybe just part-time?"  
Oh! Paul wasn't too sure about that. He tried to construct an argument as to why they didn't need anyone but his brain was fogged with sleep.  
"At least so we could have a day off now and again."  
"We have Sundays off" Paul murmured.  
John reached across and rumpled Paul's already mussed up hair.  
"One day isn't much, though, is it, love?"  
John's fingers raked through Paul's hair, and Paul leaned into the touch. If he'd been a cat he would have purred. Was John doing it deliberately to distract him from the discussion at hand? "Maybe we can talk about it tomorrow" was all he could manage before capturing John's wrist and tugging him down for a kiss.

They slept solidly all night. John woke, refreshed and relieved, to Paul still fast asleep beside him. No repercussions from yesterday, then. That had been his worry, his concern. He rolled onto his back, listening to Paul's steady breathing. What time was it? He squinted at the alarm clock but it appeared as a blur, as did everything else in the room. Groping for his glasses, he stuck them on his face and checked. Almost seven. Plenty of time yet. He thought about the day to come. Thursdays were always quiet days, but Paul worked at the Care Home on a Thursday afternoon, dashing back to do a couple of hours teaching. So he wouldn't finish till after seven. He mentally ran through the contents of their fridge. He'd best cook tonight, then. Paul would be too tired to even attempt to rustle something up. Hiding a smile, John ran his thumb down Paul's arm that rested across his chest. The lad was so determined to improve his cooking skills, but John could only foresee a series of disasters and imperfect mealtimes ahead. Still, give him his due ... he did want to try.  
It had been good of George to turn up with a meal for them last night. John squirmed a little at how he'd behaved. Not a very gracious welcome. It's just that ... he felt he had something to prove. To show everyone that he could manage Paul, a marriage, a business, a home life. He knew everyone had their best intentions at heart and that offers of help were genuinely meant, but he did so want to be able to show the world that they could make it as a couple. At the moment he felt all eyes were on them, watching.

He stretched out his other hand and grabbed his phone, checking the new notifications. He no longer did Facebook ... too many things going on in his and Paul's lives. He'd never been on it very much anyway, although he knew some of his friends lived on it. But once he and Paul had become an item he'd deleted his account, and Paul had never had one anyway. Nonetheless there was a list of emails that had come in over night ... most of them junk ... and four new texts. John settled his glasses more firmly on his face and scrolled through the texts.  
George, thanking them (Thanking them?? He'd provided everything!) for last night and confirming he'd be round later on Sunday morning and was going to bring some chitting potatoes for planting. What, John wondered, was chitting potatoes?  
Ritchie, hoping all was well and would they like to join him and Lottie for Sunday dinner about 2.00?  
Mimi .... MIMI!!! ... learning to text?? It was as polite and stilted as one of her letters. Dear John, I will do Sunday tea for you and Paul. Be here for five. Mimi.  
Hmm ... a summons, then, not an invite!!  
Tom ... oh ... John blinked, preparing himself ... he knew the trial had begun again on Monday .. 'Heads up, things are moving on, watch this space. No call yet.'  
John let out a sigh of relief. He knew he'd be expected to stand soon.

He let the phone slip back out of his fingers and concentrated on running his thumb up and down Paul's arm.  
Sometimes ... just occasionally ... he needed Paul to keep him grounded too.


	55. Chapter 55

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slight detour there through Carousel ... I cannot begin to explain what a relief it was to discover I could still write about John and Paul in different settings. Thought I'd used all my inspiration up on this one and would never be able to envisage a different John and Paul. Anyway, back to the Love you Make .. cheers for everyone who follows this. This 'journal' is totally self indulgent on my part.   
> Nothing much happens in this chapter ... just a few little 'moments'.  
> Other things are planned!

Paul's laughter rang out, clear and true, carrying through the open kitchen window where John was busy cooking breakfast ... well, brunch more like. The smell of bacon and sausage smelt wonderful. He glanced outside and could see George and Paul throwing clodfuls of soil at each other like nursery children, all adult inhibitions thrown away with the wind. A slight pang of jealousy struck John, surprising him. He'd never made Paul laugh like that. He blinked the thought away quickly and reminded himself that this was Paul's long time friend with whom he probably felt completely comfortable and at home.

Then again, whispered another little voice, he should feel like that with me. I'm his husband.

John shoved the window wider, allowing enticing smells to escape.

"Now now boys quieten down" he called in an imperial tone.

Paul's head shot round, finding him, and a bright smile lit up his face.

Stupid, thought John, I'm being stupid. I know he loves me.

"We have some chitting potatoes" Paul called breezily, indicating a wooden tray that was sitting on the grass near to where George and Paul were digging up a section of lawn.

"So I see dear" John replied patronisingly, a wink taking the sting from his words.  
He'd forgotten to ask Paul what was meant by 'chitting'.

"Breakfast won't be long. How y' getting on?"

Paul dropped the spade he was holding and looked ready to fly up to the kitchen window.

"I'm fuckin' starving" he called.

George looked hopefully up at him too.

Oh my God, two stomachs' on legs to feed.

"Okay" Memo ... shove another couple of eggs in " be up in ten minutes. Don't forget to wash your hands."

 

There had been so many ... commitments? invites? plans? ... for this Sunday.

Ritchie had invited them round for Sunday dinner but John had had to demur. What with George coming round this morning and a command ... yes, command ... there was no other way of putting it ... from Mimi to appear for Sunday tea. They wouldn't have been able to squash Ritchie in as well without appearing rude, just eating the meal and running away.

"Well, maybe one evening or another Sunday then" Ritchie had said unperturbed.  
Thank Jesus for friends like Ritchie. Uncomplicated and understanding.

Moments later John watched with satisfaction as George and Paul ate their way through a pile of food enough to feed an army.  
He was glad he'd put more eggs in, with George being vegetarian. He wasn't too sure what those vegetarian sausages tasted like though.

"They're okay" George mumbled through a mouthful.   
His still dreadlocked hair was now an interesting shade of pink with odd green streaks.

He jumped as Paul kicked him on the shins.   
"You're just saying that. They taste like shite."

John quietly followed the interchange.

George's eyes fell on him.  
"Thanks for this. Much appreciated" said George, holding up a crammed toasted sandwich he'd put together of brown sauce, veggie sausage and eggs. The whole concoction looked about to drop to pieces.

"You're welcome. Thanks for coming round to play with Paul" John replied drily.

George's gaze flickered. He wasn't quite sure how to take that.

"Aye, I'm not a kid" Paul objected, a smear of brown sauce across his cheek.

John teasingly leaned forward and wiped it off.

"Aren't you?" he teased.

George ducked back.   
He could feel John's jealousy.  
He didn't want to come between them.

Paul ... of course, being Paul ... was blissfully unaware of any tension.  
"We've dug quite a lot of grass out. Just got to do some channels and put the tatties in now."

"Good. So we'll be living on potatoes for the rest of the year, will we, then?"

Paul beamed back at him. "Yup, hope so. It's the reason me family originally came over."

John looked mystified.

"Y'know ... Ireland. Potato famine."

"Jesus, Paul, that's years ago."

"Yeah, well" Paul took another mouthful of food and mumbled his way through it. Really this lad's eating habits were very ... untutored.  
"They kept going back, didn't they. Till, eventually, they .. didn't."  
He swiped the back of his hand over his mouth, spreading brown sauce everywhere.  
John quietly handed him a tissue, and he blushed and accepted it.

Giving him time to tidy himself up, John turned to George, who'd been quietly watching them.

"So, what y' doing for the rest of the day then?"

George blinked, startled.  
"Oh, after this? Once we've got the tatties in I'm off to see me mam and dad, then I go to work about five. A later start."  
He turned to face Paul. "You should go see them. Me mam still asks about y' going round."

Paul nodded, although he didn't look too enthusiastic.  
He wasn't sure what had happened last time he'd gone round.

"Thanks for the meal you've brought" John put in. "It'll be really appreciated."

George blushed, grateful for a word of thanks from John. He'd begun to feel like a gooseberry between them.

"It's no problem, like I said. Anytime. It's spicy but not very hot. Hope you enjoy it."

 

Later John went down into the garden to survey neat channels of potatoes set in what had previously been a corner of lawn. Not that you could see anything yet. The soil was in regular hillocks.

John gestured to them. "Do we need to do anything?"

George brushed the dirt off his fingers. "Nah. Not really. Look after themselves. Try an' keep the weeds down, is all. An' watered, if it don't rain. Right, well .... I'd best be off, then. Me mam'll have dinner ready." He dithered, aware of two pairs of eyes on him. He wanted to hug Paul goodbye, reassure him everything would be fine ... well, it would ... he had John who obviously adored him ... he wanted to tell him to try and shrug things off more ... not worry too much ... don't overthink things ... get on with his own life now and ... above all ... be happy.

But John was watching him.

John saw George's hesitation, as if he wanted to say something, do something, and wondered if it was because he was standing there that he felt he couldn't. As if he was an invisible obstruction between the two younger men. The feeling was ... uncomfortable, and John shifted, shuffling his feet. Was this how Paul felt when Stu was there? John hadn't thought about that before, and momentarily his concentration on George lifted.

"I'd, er, better go ..." George's voice broke the silence that, to John, had seemed to stretch on endlessly. He blinked, gathering his wits to say goodbye, but Paul swiftly moved in and gave George a warm hug.

"Thanks so much, I've really enjoyed myself."

The words cut a knife in John's heart. Fucking hell, if he'd known that just digging up a patch of lawn would have meant so much to the younger man he'd have done it with him a long time ago. All he wanted was to make Paul happy. Just ... make him happy. Make him forget ....

John blinked again, and George was standing in front of him. John had the feeling he'd just read his mind.

The smile George offered, and the handshake, was full of understanding.

"Maybe you can help him water 'em, eh?"

John nodded and solemnly shook George's hand.

His voice was husky, but he didn't know why.

"Sure. Appreciated, mate."

 

Washing up the breakfast things Paul chattered on about all the things George had said they could grow. He was fresh faced from the brisk wind that had picked up outside, up to his elbows in soapy suds. The fact that John wasn't entering into the conversation didn't deter Paul. He felt he'd achieved something that morning, and kept glancing out of the kitchen window just to make sure the newly turned patch of soil hadn't grown legs and walked away.

And the more ebullient Paul was, the more into a depression John sank.

He tried to dig himself out of it. This wasn't good.   
Paul was the one most likely to lapse into depression, not him.  
What the fuck was wrong with him?  
It wasn't just some stupid jealousy over George.  
He let Paul's endless chatter wash over him as he dredged his mind for what was at the root of this sudden dip.  
And he found it.

The trial. It had resumed. He was likely to be called ... sooner rather than later.   
He shut his eyes and sighed.  
It must have been louder than he thought.  
Paul stopped talking, and when John opened his eyes his husband was there in front of him, a frown on his brow, worry clouding those dark eyes.

"John, what's the matter? Are you okay?"

John slapped a fake grin on his face.

"Yup, I'm fine. Just .. just .. thinking about going to Mimi's, is all."

Paul bought the lie, because he was thinking about it too. And worrying.

John saw him chew his lip.

This time, John's smile was genuine.

He poked Paul in the stomach. "Don't fret, I'm sure she's hidden all her best china."

Paul batted him round the head with a soapy wet dishcloth.

 

Paul tidied his hair. Tidied it again. Checked the knot on his tie was straight. Rubbed an invisible mark off his tan brogues. Tidied his hair again. Checked his rear view that his jacket wasn't creased. Tidied his hair again.

John shoved his hands into the pockets of his denim jacket and huffed.

"Bloody hell, Paul, you're worse than a bird. You look fine, come on, let's go."

The glance Paul threw at John anyone would have thought he was being led to his execution.

John grinned, and grabbed his arm.

"Come on, babe, you know she likes you. Probably prefers you to me, really. Stop worrying."

 

The bus was late. Which meant they were late.  
Paul quivered in his well polished shoes.  
Even John was a bit on edge.

The door flung open.  
She didn't look too happy.  
Fortunately ... at least for Paul ... her annoyance was directed at John.

"I thought I said five o'clock, John."  
No hello. No greeting.  
John bristled.  
"Well, hello, Mimi, nice to see you too."  
Her eyes narrowed.  
Paul swallowed. Bloody hell, she looked just like John when she did that.  
"Promptness is a good trait to have. Lackadaisicalness is not."  
"The bus was late."  
"Well you should have gone for an earlier bus."  
"That would have had us here far too early, and you wouldn't have liked that either."  
"Preferable to your being late."  
"If the bus had been on time we would have been on time."  
"Well don't blame me that the tea is now stewed."

Paul stood at John's side watching this flaming exchange, his eyes switching from one to the other as if on centre court at Wimbledon.  
He felt he should intervene to help his husband.

"It's my fault we're late. I'm sorry. I took too long getting ready."  
He cringed as two pairs of eyes fastened on him and blushed.

"Paul, it was not your fault, even if you did take forever to get ready. It was the bus that was late. That's what I was just saying."

Mimi looked carefully at him, Inspector Mahoney's words not far from her mind. Maybe she ought to treat him carefully. Watch what she said. She'd had the forethought to put her best china away, which was comforting.

She smiled at Paul.  
He took a step back. He found her smiles a bit scary.

"Well, never mind, Paul. You look very smart....." Paul perked up slightly, feeling a little more confident " ... it's a shame John can't make the same effort."

"Aye, I'm not that bad, Mims. I'm clean, at least."

She huffed and unfolded her arms.  
"Well, you'd both better come in. Wipe your feet and don't trip over the hall table, Paul."

 

He didn't know why she had this effect on him, but he was all fingers and thumbs and managed to drop his fork covered with mayonaisse onto the tablecloth from where it rolled delicately down his trousers, leaving a rather oily stream. He also managed to spill his tea, and then missed the saucer completely, causing any remnants to join the mayo stain.  
A cherry tomato equally proved difficult, until he finally abandoned the item on the side of his plate, conscious all the time of Mimi's eyes never leaving him. He took a deep breath and placed his knife and fork down, wishing he could disappear under the table.

John, who'd been tucking in merrily to the traditional Sunday tea, turned to him quizzically.  
"You're not finished already, are you? You've hardly eaten anything."  
Now there were two pairs of almost identical eyes gazing at him.  
He coloured, and ducked his head, muttering something.

"What?" asked John, a teasing twinkle in his eyes.

Paul looked pleadingly at him.  
"I .. I need the loo, John."

Mimi itched to take notes on this lad's behaviour. She'd thought about it before. The temptation was very strong.  
She sat silently watching the interaction.

John's teasing smile softened sympathetically.  
"Go on then, babe, you know where it is."

Paul stood up swiftly and accidentally caught a corner of the tablecloth as he did so. As every item on the cloth cascaded all three made a grab to catch them.  
It was the last straw.  
Paul let out a whimper and fled.  
The sound of the lock clicking into place had an air of finality to it.

John didn't know whether to laugh or cry.  
He was gripping a section of the cloth that held a dish of beetroot, a jar of pickle, his own cup of tea and his plate. Most of it was interestingly mingled.  
He looked across at his aunt.  
She was in a similar position.  
Her face was a study in forced nonchalance.

John began to giggle.  
She looked at him in amazement.  
Then he began to chuckle.  
Her perfectly painted lips twitched.  
He laughed, tears running down his face.  
It was like watching a mountain crumble.  
First a wobble, then a snigger, then her chest began heaving silently.  
Finally .....  
They each held a portion of the now ruined cloth and roared with laughter.

Wiping her eyes with a corner of the stained cloth, she shook her head.  
"Honestly, John ... you need to lock him up for his own safety."  
John sobered swiftly. His aunt's words were a little too near the truth.  
"You make him nervous, Mimi. He's not usually this bad."  
She sobered too. "Nervous? I make him nervous?"  
John carefully replaced the cloth, wincing at the mess.  
"Yeah. You're a bit scary, y'know."  
"Oh." She thought about it.  
Yes, she supposed she was.  
"Oh". A twinge of pride at that fact warmed her.  
Still, she didn't want to scare Paul.  
Not after ... after ... well, whatever it was after.  
She looked curiously at John.  
"You never explained ..."  
He cut her off instantly. "No. I can't."  
He saw her blink, startled.   
He softened. "One day, maybe, Mimi. Not yet."  
Mollified, she nodded.  
A thought struck her.  
"Is he okay, do you think?"  
John considered the question.  
A smile curved his lips.  
"Apart from having a nervous breakdown, yeah."

 

"John, I'm never going again."  
Paul curled up on the settee, clutching tightly the mug of tea John had passed him.  
It was beyond humiliating .. it was ... was ... he dug for the strongest word he could.  
He couldn't find one.  
"Humiliating" he said.  
John ruffled his hair affectionately.  
"I haven't seen me aunt laugh like that for years."  
Paul curled even tighter into himself, sinking his nose into the mug, his cheeks a bright pink.  
"I'm glad you think it was funny."  
John swallowed a giggle. "Well ... yeah, Paul, it was. Sorry."  
Paul huffed and took a sip of tea. John slid in the space next to him and nudged Paul's thigh.  
"Come on, Paul ... you've gotta admit ..."  
Paul stared determinedly at a space in front of him.  
His pride was offended.  
"Me pride's offended" he muttered.  
John nudged him again.   
"Paulie?"  
Paul's lips twitched.  
"You are one on your own" John whispered through the dark hair.  
"So me mam used to say" Paul admitted.  
"Clever lady, your mam."  
Paul turned to face him, blinking when he realised John's face was only a couple of inches away from his own.  
John leaned forward and swiftly caught Paul's lips in a brief but tender kiss.  
"I love you, one on your own" John whispered.  
Paul's eyes darkened tenderly.

 

John and Paul both looked up as the door bell tinkled.  
Stu stood there, a beaming smile on his face.  
John's smile was equally wide.  
Paul tried ... he really did. He was aware it may look more of a grimace though.  
"Hiya you two. How's married life? Not fed up of one another yet?"  
Stu leaned casually on the counter, as if he owned the shop. At least, that was Paul's opinion.  
But John was already chatting away, bits of tittle tattle, even as Stu's eyes searched out Paul, assessing.  
Paul nodded stiffly at him, and to his surprise Stu flashed him a smile.  
Paul almost turned round to check there wasn't someone standing behind him, although he knew, of course, that there wasn't.  
Keeping his eyes on Paul, Stu cut across John's rambling.  
"I've gotta be quick. Just wondering if you were both in later 'cos I've got the photos to show you."  
Paul was across to the counter in a flash, animosity forgotten.  
"Are they okay? Did they turn out alright?"  
Stu's smile was genuine at Paul's enthusiasm. "Stunning" was all he said.

Stunning. Paul relaxed, tasting the word ... if they'd turned out okay. The day had been so busy, a confusion of sound and colour in his mind, he'd been hoping that the photos would throw some cohesion on the occasion.

"... won't it? Paul? Oy ... you with us?"

Paul blinked. "What? Sorry, pardon?"

John grinned. "Having a party in your head again? Stu said he can come round about eight tonight, show us the photos."

Paul nodded.

 

Stu arrived promptly, carrying what appeared to be a large covered canvas under his arm, and a folder full of printed off photos, some of which he'd put into an album as a belated wedding gift. Paul's fingers itched to get hold of the prints. He flopped down on the settee with the packet and album in his hands having barely even said hello, while John, more mindful of his manners, fetched Stu a beer. 

When John returned from the kitchen, Stu was dithering, hands in pockets, watching Paul, who's dark eyes were focused intently on the photos.

Paul couldn't believe how they had captured the day.  
Like lots of little stories, snapshots of groups, of couples, gossiping, laughing, joking ... and above all ... John. His John in that gold waistcoat, beaming like the sun, looking so handsome.

John nudged him with his foot. "Here, shove up. Let's have a look."

Wordlessly Paul passed him the photos, accepting a chilled beer in return.

"What do you think?" Stu's question was quiet, directed at Paul. He sounded ...nervous.

Paul was surprised, but it gave him courage to reply. "They're amazing. Really good. I didn't realise there were so many people there."

John, skimming through the prints, let out a snort. "Well, you're the one that invited 'em."

Stu's smile was genuine. "I'm glad you like them. Astrid has got just a few more, but she's editing them. She has a few ideas. Once she's finished I'll let you have them."

"These are brilliant, Stu. Tell Astrid. How much do we owe you?" John asked.

Stu waved a hand dismissively. "Nothing. Nothing at all. It's our gift to you."

"You can't do that! We can pay you."

"Wouldn't hear of it, neither would Astrid. And, er, talking of gifts. Do you remember me saying I wanted to paint you both?"

They both glanced up, curious.

Stu moved to the canvas that he'd carried under wraps, and took it across to show them.

"There was this one photo, where you're both standing at the altar, and I ... well, I based this painting on it. This is my present to you both."

Stu pulled the cover off, and they found themselves staring at a large canvas that was full of bright colours swirling and intermingling.

He pointed to the centre, where aqua and gold created a circle, threads of colour joining them together.

"That's the two of you. I think it was taken by Astrid when you were saying your vows. What I can best recall, 'cos I was standing at the back watching, was all this aura of colour surrounding you both. The yellow is the colour of the flowers around you, but more than that there was all this colour spilling in from the stained glass windows and beams of white sunlight and ... well, I just put it all together. I .. er ... I hope you like it." Stu finished awkwardly, shoving his hands in his pockets.

John leapt up. "Fucking brilliant, Stu. Love it. Don't we Paul?"

Paul nodded too. He was very glad Stu had explained the meaning of all the colours, and he did think it made a very striking ensemble. He realised he wasn't very tutored in modern art, but he did try his best to respond.

"It's .. really kind of you. Must have taken you ages ..." he winced. Christ, that sounded so feeble. Did paintings like this take a long time or not? He wished he knew what to say because, yes, he was grateful, John obviously loved it, and it was kind of Stu to do this for them. "Thank you" he nodded quietly.

Stu didn't seem offended, however, and nodded back at Paul. "You're welcome."

"Pride of place that'll have, over the fireplace." John paced over to inspect the wall as if he were about to hang it here and now. 

There was an awkward moment as Paul glanced at Stu and Stu glanced at Paul at the same time.  
Paul coloured and ducked his head, alarmed to have been discovered sneaking a look.  
Stu cleared his throat. "Er .. just make sure it's secure, won't ya? Bit heavy, y'know."   
He scratched the nape of his neck. Now the greetings and gifts were over he was feeling a bit like a spare leg.  
That comfortable companionship he used to have with John had gone.  
Paul had most definitely come between them.

"I'd better be off, anyway..."  
"What? You've only just got here!" exclaimed John, turning from his perusal of the wall.  
Stu's eyes sought Paul's, who met him without a flicker of emotion.  
"Yeah, well ... y' know, you two have to be up early an' .. yeah, well. Maybe we can get together one night for a meal or a drink, eh?" Stu threw the suggestion as a sop.  
John's eyes shifted between Paul and Stu, considering ... had Paul been freezing the poor guy out again?  
But Paul was sitting on the settee, clutching the prints, looking ... innocent.  
Face of a bloody angel, that guy had ... heaven knows what it hid.  
John capitulated, not wanting to delve any further.  
"Sure, yeah. Sounds good. Well .... thanks, y' know. The photos, the prints, the picture. Awesome, mate. All fucking awesome. Tell Astrid, won't ya? We're really grateful, me an' Paul. Much appreciated."

 

Long after Stu had left, Paul was still sitting on the settee going through the photos. He'd made a neat pile of his absolute favourites, his almost absolute favourites, and his favourites. John had not heard him ... well, really definitely NOT heard him ... so quiet for a while. He was completely absorbed.

"You like 'em, then?"

Paul jumped, so engrossed he'd been.

"Oh! Yeah. Yeah, they're good."

"Bring back memories, eh?" 

Paul shifted the little piles together.

"It's only just over a week ago, John."

"I know, I know. You're looking at 'em as if it were a lifetime ago."

Paul smoothed his fingers over one of the prints. "It all happened so quickly."

John snorted. "Aye, that's life, son. Blink an' it's gone."

Paul looked closely at him. "I don't feel that."

John had glanced down at the photo Paul was clutching. It showed John ... just John ... and the sun was pouring in through the church windows. You could almost see the dustmotes dancing in the air, and everything was tinged with gold. The hint of red in John's hair had been picked up and the whole photo was ... warm. Glowing.

John looked back at Paul, who was so close to him he could feel the younger man's breath, watch the pulse in Paul's neck ticking. 

He was .... distracting.

"Feel what?" John asked bemusedly.

"That you blink and life's gone."  
Paul sounded very serious.

John shrugged. "It's just a saying, la' , is all."

Paul's eyes dipped to the photo he was still clutching tightly.

"I feel like mine is just beginning" he murmured softly.

John reached out, his fingers tangling in Paul's dark hair.  
He felt, rather than heard, Paul's breath hitch.  
He closed the distance between them, carefully sliding the photo Paul was holding out of the slim fingers, dropping it carefully over the back of the settee as he pushed Paul down onto his back.

"Amen to that" said John.


	56. Chapter 56

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ritchie and George have a heart to heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh wow this chapter has taken forever to write and because I can come to it only occasionally I keep losing my thread. I don't like it!!! Ugh! Please send me some nice comments.

Ritchie plonked the glass of beer down in front of George, who flashed him a wide smile. Ritchie's smile was equally wide.  
"There y' go."  
"Thanks, Ritch."

Ritchie slid onto the wooden chair opposite George, holding onto his warm smile. End of a long working day. He was looking forward to this pint and a catch-up with George.  
They were wrapped in their own little bubble, the chatter of other people creating a friendly envelope around them.

Ritch raised his glass. "Cheers."  
George responded, and took a deep swig, leaving a foamy moustache.

"How's the little lady?" George enquired.  
Ritchie leaned back complacently on the rickety chair.  
He was happy. Content. Life was good.  
"She's fine, ta. Got a late tonight."  
George nodded, for a moment a tiny furrow appearing between his brows, then disappearing again.  
Ritchie noted it.  
George obviously had something on his mind. Unusual. He was the one to whom they all came for words of wisdom.  
Ritchie dismissed the thought as quickly as it came.  
He must be imagining things.

They chatted. Inconsequential conversations. The price of mortgages. The price of beer. The disadvantage of working unsocial hours. Family. George's and Ritchie's.  
The wedding. John and Paul.

Ritchie saw a slight shift in George's demeanour, and his earlier suspicions returned.

"Seen the love birds lately, then?" He offered an opening.  
George rummaged in his pocket for a tissue, avoiding eye contact for a moment.  
Ritchie's suspicions shot up.

"Aye, I have that. Went round Saturday morning to help Paul dig up some of the garden and plant potatoes."  
Well, Ritchie wasn't expecting that!!  
"Potatoes?" he enquired, a lift of his eyebrows.  
George nodded, a smile suffusing his face.   
"Yeah. Paul wanted to try and grow something. It seemed ... easy. They are, y' now. Pretty much foolproof."  
"Uh huh. Me granda used to grow 'em when I was a kid."  
There was a slight pause.   
Ritchie could feel it. A silence. George was searching. Searching for words.  
"An' they're okay, are they?" He hoped they were. He didn't really want to know if they weren't. He wasn't sure he could cope with any more drama, but ... he mentally nudged George, wanting him to say yes.  
George's eyes were .. looking at the table. Looking at his beer. Looking at his feet.  
Ritchie's heart sank.  
He really wanted everything to be okay.

"George?" Ritchie's query was soft. He didn't like seeing George not in control. "Problem?"  
George looked up at Ritchie, relief at the chance to chat to someone palpable in his eyes.  
"I ... I'm not sure if John likes me anymore."  
Ritchie's eyes widened. Well, this was not what he'd been expecting at all.  
"What? What d'you mean? What on earth makes you think that?"  
"When I've been round, it's ... it's like ... well, like I should have waited to be invited, an' then, even if he's okay, he's ... not. Not okay, that is. I end up feeling as if I'm in the way. A spare leg, an' ... an' I don't know what I've done. I feel as if he's shoving me away ... warning me off Paul, as it were. Like he's jealous, or summat, an' I don' know what to say to make it right, or if I should go, or if I ought to stay away, but I know Paul likes to see me, an' I don't want him thinking I've abandoned him, but ... I'm just .. not ..." it all spilled out, the words tumbling one over the other.   
"Hold it. Hold it right there, Georgie." Ritchie didn't look alarmed. He looked quite calm, almost a twinkle in those lovely blue eyes. "I've known John a long time, an' I know how he can come over. I think you might be worrying unnecessarily."  
George glanced hopefully at him, awaiting enlightenment.  
Ritchie cast him a small smile. "He's got something to prove, hasn't he."  
"Prove?"  
"Yeah, prove. To us. You, me .. everyone. That he can look after Paul an' do it well. And until John reaches the point where he reckons every body can see that he can do it, he's likely to keep us all at arms length." Ritchie scratched his big nose thoughtfully. "Y'see, everyone sees and knows Paul has insecurities, but what they don't reckon on is the fact John has 'em too. He comes over as such a smart arse most o' the time. But Paul .... well, he needed to dig deep in his reserves to have the courage to handle Paul."  
An amazed expression crossed George's face at this little snippet of news.   
Ritchie noted it, and smiled.   
"I'm not making that up. He was seriously worried about whether or no he'd be able to handle Paul on his own if they got their own place. He told me. That's how I know."  
George's 'oh' was silent as he digested this information.  
"So, I guess, at the moment ... offers of help, etcetera, are probably ... well, not misunderstood, as such. I mean, John knows you, an' he knows you aren't trying to undermine him, but I guess he just needs a bit of space to show us that he can do it. Even if we know he can."  
George took another swig of beer. "So ... I should stay away?"  
Ritchie pursed his lips, thinking. "Well, like you say, Paul likes to see you, an' I guess he'd think it odd if you suddenly stopped going." Ritchie heaved out a sigh. Walking a middle line in a relationship was never an easy thing. "Guess, if I was you, I'd probably text John to see if it was okay to drop by, then keep your visit brief. At the moment, that is" Ritchie amended swiftly.  
George nodded.  
He seemed ... slumped, somehow. Not his usual ebullient self.  
Ritchie nudged him.  
"John is a bit of a bull at a gate, y'know. Apt to upset people inadvertently. When we first met I could lay a bet he'd be at the root of any problem, any argument that happened. Always was one to open his mouth without thinking, an' shoot himself in the foot."   
Ritchie winced at his mix-up of metaphors.  
George still seemed quiet.  
Ritchie lowered his voice. "He means well. He has a heart of gold, y' know. Just doesn't always come over like that, is all."  
"It's not just that."  
Ritchie blinked. "Hmmm?"  
"Not just John. It's .. Paul, too."  
Ritchie glanced curiously at George, sensing him gather himself together.  
The younger man continued, his voice a quiet murmur so that Ritchie had to strain his ears to hear, George's face puce in colour.  
"Have you ever ... ever ... sort of .. fancied someone ... like, a guy? I mean, I'm not gay. I'm not, really not ... I know I'm not. Never fancied any guy, ever, but .. but the other day .. well, Paul .... oh, fuck ... I don't know how to put it ..." George's incoherent sentence fizzled out as he went redder and redder  
A slow smile spread across Ritchie's face.  
He twigged straightaway what George was mumbling about.  
"Found you had the hots for Paul, did you?"  
George's mouth dropped open, relief palpable in the brown eyes, relief that Ritchie didn't seem shocked.  
Ritchie gave a little nod of his head. "Exudes sex, that guy. Don't know if he's aware of it. Maybe he isn't, but .. well, all I know is if I was that way inclined I'd certainly ... " Ritchie realised where his sentence was about to go and gave a little cough to cover up the last few words.  
George was still open mouthed.  
This was their friend they were talking about.  
It didn't seem right.  
For a moment eye contact dropped as they both struggled to put feelings into words.  
"What happened?" Ritchie asked quietly.  
George chewed his lip before replying. He was terse. "Morning o' the wedding. He'd had a shower an' had nothin' on an' gave me a hug an' ... an' ... "   
Ritchie chuckled. It was good to hear that sound. "An' a little friend popped up to say hello, did he?"  
It took the awkwardness out of the situation.  
George's responding chuckle was warm, relief in every breath. "Yeah. I had to push Paul off me lest he twig."  
Ritchie shoved a beer mat round with a stubby, capable finger. "Don't mean you fancy him in that way, mate. Just a normal bloke's chemical reaction I reckon. Never fancied him before, have y'? Not that it matters to me, y' know. I've lived with the pair of 'em for over a year."  
George's smile as he shook his head was one of thankfulness. Relief.  
"No, I haven't. I love Paul to bits and always have, ever since we met. He always looked out for me, y' know. But never ... no, not ever like that."  
"He's a good-looking guy" Ritchie murmured thoughtfully.  
George nodded in agreement. "Aye, an' look where it got him."  
Ritchie didn't immediately agree. He was thinking. Cogs turning.  
"Bit more than that, innit, though. There's lots of good-looking guys out there, but ... well, like I said earlier. Sex on legs. He has that extra ... whatever it is. Je ne sais quoi."  
George blinked to hear Ritchie come out with a French saying, yet at the same time it was appropriate.  
Their thoughts aligned immediately.  
"Got the trial to cope with yet" George murmured into his beer.  
Ritchie nodded.  
He hoped all would go well for them.

 

"I thought" Paul said to his elderly choir " we could have a fifties concert. Maybe ... y' know ... dress up in that era and do some rock and roll music. D'you fancy that?"  
He spun round on his piano seat and anxiously surveyed the assembled people. Was it out of their age range? Maybe he should stop at forties and classics.  
Jack, of the white springy hair and nimble legs, sprang to his feet, shooting a fist into the air. "Yes!" he exclaimed.  
That was it. They were away, chattering and planning. Paul sat back, folded his arms, and listened to them as tons of memories spilled out about that era.  
All he'd done was light the touch paper.  
Even as they talked enthusiastically, part of Paul's mind was running over the songs he thought might be suitable. Had any of these been teenagers during this time? Young wives? Young mothers? New fathers? Maybe he ought to ask them what songs they recalled. After all he could bring his guitar and accompany them.  
"I used to sing my daughter to sleep with 'Love me Tender' " Betty told him, standing by the piano stool. Her face was flushed and excited, memories spilling back.  
Paul smiled at her. 'Life is short. Blink and it's gone.' John's words came back at him.  
Even as Paul listened to the reminiscences, his mind sped on wings to John.  
He couldn't wait to get back to him. To hold him.  
If life was short, then in John's arms was where Paul wanted to be.

He leapt off the bus, hurrying towards the shop. His first pupil would be arriving soon and he wanted to jot down the songs the old folk had mentioned. Most he'd known, but not all, and he wanted to do a bit of research. More than that, he wanted to see John.

He flung the door open, the bell tinkling madly, and John looked up from serving, startled, his face breaking into a smile at the sight of his husband. He could sense across the small space that Paul was thrumming. The best way, John reckoned, to explain that sense of excitement and fizz that the younger man exuded.  
Paul's smile back was wide.  
He'd really hoped he'd find John on his own so he could ravish those thin lips, snuggle into welcoming arms, but obviously, it was not to be.  
"Okay love?" John asked, disregarding the shocked expression on the customer's face.  
Paul knew if he opened his mouth he wouldn't stop, so he paused, took a breath, and nodded.  
"I'll make you a cup of tea while you get set up." John turned back to the customer. " ... so, yeah, we have more. There might be some stashed in the back. If you come back at the weekend I'll have had time to search."  
Paul listened with half an ear as he made his way into the tiny music room, automatically opening a stand and setting two stools ready for the first guitar lesson. There were six folders on top of the piano, one for each lesson he was about to give so that he could stay across pupils' progress. Six was a nice number. His eyes went cloudy as he continued to erect the music stand. You could easily divide it, or multiply it. He wasn't sure he liked three. Three spoke of an odd one out. Someone on their own. But six ... well, enough to go round, really .... to share ... to find someone you got on with ... to ...  
"Tea!"   
Paul shot round at the sound of John's voice, his eyes clearing.  
His smile returned. "Thanks".  
It was welcome. It WAS welcome. John made really good tea, and Paul was immensely grateful for anything anyone did for him. Made him tea. Made him a meal. Passed him a compliment.Gave him a hug. He could hardly believe how his life had changed.  
"How was your day?" John enquired, seeing as Paul only continued to beam at him silently.  
Paul dragged his scattered thoughts together.  
"Oh, good. We're gonna do a fifties concert. It'll be ace. We're gonna dress up in style, an' I can play my guitar, an' ... an' ... John, you could probably play with me ...."  
That was it. Paul was off. "We could do some Everley Brothers, you an'me, as a spot, like ... and ..."  
John took a step back, literally and physically. "Whoa, whoa, mate ... I'm not as good as you."  
Paul stopped, open mouthed. John was ... was ... everything. He could do anything.  
"Of course you are. You're brilliant. It'll be fantastic, you an' me ..."  
John folded his arms, leaning against the door.  
"Aye, well, we'll see. Maybe we could have a go at summat."  
It was hard to deny Paul anything.  
Paul's beaming smile returned.  
He'd lost.  
John knew he'd just lost.  
He'd be playing with Paul.

"So ....." Paul crammed his mouth full of food, and continued talking, even though the rest of the sentence was pretty indecipherable to John ... " thofhsomlikranbnrocknrollcoudof..."  
John raised a quizzical eyebrow at his husband, but Paul's eyes were on his food as he attacked the meal John had made him with alacrity as if he'd not been fed for the last year.  
A smile crossed John's face.  
"Hey, slow down a bit ... don't rush your food so much."  
John was completely unprepared for Paul's reaction.  
The fork fell numbly from Paul's fingers, clattering into his dinner, sending splashes of pasta sauce across the table cloth as he stared, aghast, at John.  
John's smile faded.  
He had a sinking feeling in his gut he shouldn't have said anything.  
Not for the first time he wished he could turn the clock back and swallow his words.  
Their eyes met and John saw Paul swallow nervously, his Adam's apple bobbing, eyes wide and panicked.  
"I ... I .. " Paul suddenly pushed his plate away and stood up."I'm not hungry."  
The words were blurted out, stuttering in their haste.  
John frowned. "What? Don't be silly ... you've hardly touched anything, and the way you were going at it I would have said you were starving."  
Paul's face coloured. "I don't ... I don't want anymore. Sorry. I need to ... to ... " he was searching for an excuse, and found one. " ...... water the potatoes."  
He fled the room.  
John sat there, dumbstruck, wondering what the fuck had gone on.  
What bag of worms had he opened now?  
He took another forkful of his own meal, but it tasted like sawdust in his mouth.  
He shouldn't have said anything.  
He really shouldn't have said anything.  
It was just that ... Paul was naturally graceful. Everything he did. Except ... eat.  
He always managed to devour his food at almost twice the rate of anyone else ... except maybe George.  
It was so out of character.  
John placed his knife and fork down and pushed his plate away.  
Fuck!!!

Glancing out the kitchen window as he stacked the plates for washing up, John could see Paul down in the garden. He was standing gazing at the patch of muddy ground that, obviously, as yet, bore no fruit. He certainly wasn't watering plants. He was, however, chewing his thumbnail.   
John didn't want to crowd him.   
Then again, he didn't want him worrying unnecessarily.  
He rested his hands in the soapy water, contemplating what to do.  
He'd obviously made one wrong move already.  
Drying his hands, he moved towards the door.  
He'd go and join Paul outside.

The air was warm and balmy, a late evening sunset beginning to spread it's way over the sky.  
Despite the noise from passing traffic a blackbird was singing enthusiastically, loud enough to be heard, it's mellow tones sounding across the garden.  
John slipped his arms around Paul's waist, approaching from behind.  
"Hey, babe. You okay?"  
He felt Paul start, surprised. There was a slight nod.  
"Thought you might be spending the night out here. D' you wanna cuppa? Or another beer or something?"  
A small headshake.  
John tightened his arms. It was frustrating not being able to see Paul's face but he felt the need to tread carefully. Resting his chin on Paul's shoulder John huffed a little sigh.  
"It's beautiful out here, innit. How's the potatoes comin' on then?"  
This time a shrug.  
"Not given up on them already, have you?" John jokingly asked.  
Paul didn't reply, simply transferred from chewing thumbnail to chewing fingernail instead.  
John tightened his hold.  
"Look, love, I didn't mean to upset you ..."  
"You didn't upset me" Paul shot back swiftly, words mumbled from behind his nail.  
So obviously a lie, but John let it slide. He relaxed his hold, hesitant.  
He was at a loss what to do or say.  
Paul suddenly twisted in his arms, deftly stepping away, face hidden.  
"I'm tired, I'm ... I'm gonna have an early night."  
Even as he spoke he was moving towards the back door.  
"But ... Paul, it's not even eight thirty yet."  
He'd gone, feet flying up the stairs, not even stopping for his usual routine of locking up.  
Bewildered, John shook his head.

John followed his usual routine, had a drink, watched a bit of telly, tried to relax. Tried to ignore the unease that ate away at him.  
He was missing Paul.  
He'd checked on him, and the lad was, indeed, asleep, curled tightly into a ball.  
He must be hungry, John reckoned. He was, so Paul must be.  
Stubborn bugger.  
At eleven John made himself a pile of toast and a mug of tea which he demolished before he, too, turned in.

The noise of crockery breaking woke him in the middle of the night.  
He shot up in bed, automatically checking for Paul.  
No one next to him.  
He grabbed his dressing gown and flung it around himself, wryly acknowledging that maybe they should have held on to Paul's original idea of tying themselves together at night. It had been weeks since they'd last done that.  
He followed the sound of chaos into the unlit kitchen and found Paul methodically emptying all the cupboards and piling every item randomly into an overflowing dry sink.  
A quick glance told John that, fortunately, not too much damage had yet been caused. A lot of the noise had been made by the cutlery which was dropping off the overcrowded draining board onto the tiled floor. Moving quietly, John captured Paul's arms even as the younger man reached to take more bowls out of a wall cupboard.  
"Hey, love, you don't want to do that ... come on ... " John spoke quietly, but his grip was tight.  
In the soft darkness Paul was warm in his arms, his features visible only by the faint glow of light that entered through the window.  
The lithe figure twisted in John's arms, surveying his captor from eyes that were ... dark ... confused ... blank ... curious ... John watched the continuous switching as Paul went through focused, then unfocused, then back to focused like a fast-forwarded film. They finally latched on focused. Fixated on John's face.  
"Alright, love?" John asked softly.  
Paul's eyes flickered, alighting on the mess on the floor, on the side, the upturned bowls.  
Chewing his bottom lip, he shifted his gaze back to John .... who was waiting, patiently, .... still holding him.  
He wasn't sure what had happened ... why was he here ... in the kitchen ... in the middle of the night .... wearing not a stitch of clothing. Why did the kitchen look as if it had been ransacked? He wracked his brain, thinking ... what ... why ... but it was tiring. So confusing.  
"John?"  
"Hmmm?" John pushed a stray piece of hair back over Paul's ear. That piece that kept defiantly curling.  
"John ... I'm ... I'm hungry."  
It came out plaintively, and it took John all his self-control not to laugh.  
Of everything Paul could have said ... but John was relieved. So, so relieved. Because it was normal.  
"And you couldn't find a bowl of the right size, eh?" John turned it into a joke to lighten the situation, and Paul's lips curved in an answering smile.  
Five past three in the morning.  
John stifled a tired sigh.  
For better for worse, he reminded himself.  
John slipped his dressing gown off and slung it round Paul.  
"Go and sit at the table and I'll grab you some milk and cornflakes. That okay?"  
Paul obediently slid onto a seat at the table, nodding. At that moment in time nothing sounded better than cornflakes.  
John swiftly found the box, a bowl, spoon and bottle of milk and flicking on the table lamp he placed it all in front of Paul.  
"You okay to look after yourself while I tidy up?" John enquired nonchalantly.  
Paul's nod was slight as he was already busy pouring a substantial amount of cornflakes into his bowl.  
John nipped quickly to the bedroom and threw on his boxers and t-shirt from the day before, then headed back into the kitchen.   
Fortunately very little had been broken. He swiftly disposed of the damaged goods, then began putting cutlery back in the drawer and plates and mugs and bowls back into the cupboard. It kept him physically occupied while his mind ran a diagnostic analysis of the events.  
What had set Paul off?  
Well ... he knew what had set him off.  
It was, of course, his comment ... but ... why?  
He could hear the cornflakes packet being emptied yet again, and the slosh of milk.  
That was certainly one hungry young man.  
As John put the last couple of plates away he became aware of Paul standing by him, clutching an empty bowl and spoon.  
John turned with a smile and took it off him. "Okay love? Better?"  
Paul nodded, and John teasingly leaned forward and wiped a milk moustache off Paul's upper lip.  
"Better get back to bed. I'll be with you in a sec."  
Paul's eyes on him were scarily intense in the way they tended to be when things had happened that left him confused, unsure of his actions.  
John gave his wrist a squeeze.  
"Go on ... get to bed. We have work in the morning."  
There were questions. Unanswered questions in Paul's eyes.  
But he gave a slight nod and obediently returned to the bedroom.  
By the time John had finished clearing up, he was fast asleep again, as if nothing had happened.  
John, however, found it impossible to relax.  
And by the time the alarm went off, he was no nearer to finding an answer to the events that had occurred.

Next day, he was as right as rain.  
No evidence that he had any memory of the previous night's occurrence.  
At least ... not that John could see ... unless ... there was a slight hesitation in Paul's action as he picked up his knife and fork that night ... a pause ... a sideways glance at John when he thought John wasn't watching.  
Picking up immediately on the unease, John grabbed his knife and fork, declared aloud "I'm fucking starving" and dived enthusiastically into his food.  
Beside him, Paul did exactly the same.  
John inwardly breathed a sigh of relief.  
But still the puzzle remained.

It was almost a week later that the riddle was solved, and George was the one to throw light on it.  
He'd taken Ritchie's advice and had texted John before calling round with a couple of containers of food that had been left over at the restaurant from the night before. George hated seeing waste, and knew that Paul and John would be grateful. To his delight John's response had been warm and welcoming.

When George arrived at the shop, John was just tidying up and cashing up the till.  
He glanced up with a quick and genuine smile, and at the same time Paul popped his head out the teaching room to call an 'hello'.  
"Me last one tonight ... what time you got to go?"  
"I need to be at work for about half seven. It's a quiet night an' I'm taking over from Shamriz at eight."  
"Okay. I'll be upstairs soon as I can."  
Paul closed the door in order to begin the lesson and George moved across to John.  
"Hiya. I've put the meals in containers. Have you got freezer room 'cos they'll freeze really well. Just defrost thoroughly before cooking, is all."  
Even as he spoke, his dark eyes were assessing John carefully. Was he really welcome?  
He didn't sense the coldness he'd experienced the previous week.  
John pushed shut the old fashioned cash desk.  
"Sounds brill" he said, glancing up at George. "D'you wanna come up for a cuppa? Wait till Paul's finished?"  
George nodded towards the closed door from where the sounds of plonking on piano emanated from.  
"How long are the lessons?"  
"Half hour. This is his last one for the day."  
George did the maths in his head. If he left here promptly at seven he'd just about make the restaurant.  
He nodded. "Okay. Sounds good. Ta."

George leaned against the counter watching John fill the kettle, his eyes scanning the modern kitchen. It was immaculately kept, clean and shining. George reckoned that was probably Paul's doing ... he had a tendency to scrub things to within an inch of their life.  
"How are things goin' then, Geo?"  
George shifted, slightly startled. John's voice was warm though. Open and friendly.   
George was glad he'd shared his problems with Ritchie. It had really helped him ... helped him to put things in perspective, even if he was still uncomfortable over the feelings he'd had for Paul.  
"Oh, good, ta." His voice was rich in it's Scouse accent. So Speke!! "I, er ... I got these. Meant to label 'em but came out in a bit of a rush. They're both vegetarian, but that one .. " he pushed a Tupperware box nearer to John " is a bit hotter. Be warned."  
"We will. Thanks."  
John took both the boxes and placed them in the freezer, and the action drew George's eye to the boxes placed ready for re-cycling next to the bin. It threw some light on what the two men lived on in the week. Pizza and cornflakes. Two empty boxes of cornflakes, to be exact.  
A grin split George's face. "Get through a lot of cornflakes, do you?"  
He meant it jokingly, but John's face, as he turned to him, was serious.  
"George, what's the problem with Paul and food?"  
John didn't know where that came from, other than it had been bugging him.  
He'd thought about it, played with the scenario in his mind, sought an answer to the question that bothered him, and nothing came out.  
Now .. well, now he had George here.  
George who maybe ... just maybe ... knew a little more.  
John wasn't quite prepared for George's reaction.  
A twist of emotion crossed the craggy features ... there ... gone.  
John felt a tug inside of him.  
George knew.  
John waited, seeing George think.  
Finally ... "What happened?"  
George's query was soft, and John spilled the story.  
What he'd said, what Paul had done.  
Although George stood still and listened, not interrupting, John could see emotions swirling in George's eyes.  
When John stopped, George nodded.  
He glanced briefly at the clock, assessing the time.  
He took the mug of tea from John, gathering his thoughts together.  
He didn't want to intrude more than he had to on Paul's privacy.  
"D'you remember me saying, when he first came to me, that he was very thin?"  
George glanced up at John from under masses of shaggy hair and noted John's nod.  
George gave a wry, empty smile.  
"That was an under statement. He was like a fuckin' skeleton. First I couldn't get him to eat ... at least, not without him offering to do something in return. To 'pay' as it were for the food."  
John looked at him blankly.  
George coloured violently.  
John twigged. "Oh, fuck."  
"It was how he'd been conditioned, y'know? You wanna eat, you gotta do something first. Then, when I did get him to eat, to realise food was a basic human right and something he could have without obligation, he'd either not eat at all or he'd shovel it all down so fast he'd make himself sick. It took weeks ... " George thought back. He'd been so busy working and trying to recuperate Paul at the same time. He readjusted his sentence. "Scrub that ... probably months. Just to get him to settle at three meals a day. To eat not so much he made himself ill. To judge for himself how much he needed and stay with that. He's never really gained a lot of weight. He's quite slight, even now, compared to how I knew him originally, but ... well, at least he eats fairly normally now."  
John had listened, appalled at this element of his husband he'd not known about. And George ... so young at the time. To have to try and sort someone who had been as screwed up as Paul.  
"You'd think he'd never eaten the way he goes at his food though. I'd only tried to get him to slow down 'cos I thought he'd get indigestion .... "  
John could feel George's dark eyes boring into him, digging out the truth.  
".... okay ... and 'cos it's not very polite. I just wanted to get him to slow down a bit."  
George's words were quiet, cutting. "Sometimes Luke would give Paul food and then take it away from him again after he'd only had a couple of mouthfuls. That's why he eats so quickly. He's scared it'll be taken off him."  
John halted, aghast.  
So this ... this was what he was battling.  
"I didn't know that."  
George's smile was sad. "No, well. No reason you should. But sometimes ... well, a lot of times, really ... things Paul does have been affected by how Luke treated him. That's the battle, innit. To help him get back to normality."  
John shook his head.  
"Is there anything else I ought to know about my husband that I don't already?"  
Although John sounded resigned, George's smile was warm.  
"Won't know till it happens, will you? We're all around to help you though, John. I know you're married an' all, but it doesn't mean you have to cut yourself off and bear the burden yourself. Paul's part of our lives too, an' we'll all be happy to help. Anyway, you've certainly done your bit. Just think ... if you hadn't punched that guy at the art exhibition then this trial wouldn't be happening now. Hopefully there'll be justice for Paul. An' any others who were involved."  
John's eyebrows shot up. "Others? You think there could have been others?"  
George shrugged. "Dunno. A thought, isn't it."

"Hiya ... phew. Glad you're still here."  
They both turned, startled.  
Paul threw them a bright smile.  
"Last one took forever to go. Thought you might have ... oh, tea. Can I have one?"  
That half hour had fled. John bestirred himself to fill the kettle, his head full of the things George had told him. Things he'd not known.   
He wanted a moment to digest them.  
Behind him, he heard Paul and George fall into an easy chatter.  
It sounded so ... normal.  
So ... ordinary.  
Would their lives ever become that?


	57. Chapter 57

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There are references in this chapter ... or at least insinuations .. to sexual abuse. Please, please, don't like, don't read.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the comments. I know I've not yet got around to replying but rest assured I love reading them.

Others.  
John couldn't get the words of George out of his head.  
There could have been others.  
Others like Paul.   
Vulnerable youngsters.  
Of course, if he thought about it, which he hadn't, because he'd been so focused on Paul, then ... yes ... it was very likely there had been.  
It was an overwhelming thought.  
Frightening in it's intensity and ...

"John? Have we got any Pasadena Roof Orchestra from the early sixties?"  
John blinked, startled, and looked up to where Paul stood at the counter, an elderly customer patiently waiting.  
He'd not even heard the bell go.  
He shook himself. This wouldn't do. He couldn't go dropping into reveries ... pleasant or otherwise.  
Although Paul had a smile on his face, his eyes were questioning.  
Digging into John.  
He washed them away with an answering smile.  
"Don't get asked for them very often. I'll go and have a root in the back."

John decided he was on edge. He really wasn't concentrating. The new revelation from George had thrown him, and on top of that he knew he would soon be called for the trial and that was playing on his nerves too. Plus the fact that they had never settled the issue of who should come to help at the shop when John couldn't be there. He still favoured Stu ... it would be dead easy for him to step in and help ... but he knew without doubt that Stu would not be Paul's choice. Meanwhile, he was waiting. Waiting for the summons. The text. The phone call. Whatever, or however, they chose to do it. He wished they'd just get on with it. He wanted it over and done with. Finished.   
He wanted to get on with his life with Paul.

"John, we've got sod all in the fridge."  
Paul surveyed the meagre contents with a practiced eye.  
Maybe if he closed the door then opened it again they would magically improve?  
He was half way to closing it when he stopped, chiding himself. That wasn't a very mature thing to do, was it? The mature thing would be to put his coat on and go to the supermarket. But then ... well ... he might bump into someone who knew him ....   
John's arm slipped around his shoulder as he joined Paul at surveying the contents.  
It had been a long day, a busy week, they'd not had much chance to shop.  
Paul smelled delicious .... John leaned in a little closer and nibbled the ear lobe nearest to him.  
With a 'tut' Paul pulled away, but there was a twinkle in his eyes.  
"John, that's not solving the problem" he chided.  
John's smile was full-blown. "Maybe not, but I'm enjoying it."  
Paul batted him away, and John caught the flailing hands firmly, tugging him into his arms, capturing him, disregarding the fact the fridge door was still open.  
Paul wriggled and wriggled ... anticipation flooding his face. John was an absolute bugger at tickling him. He gave a push, startling John, and fled quickly across the room, John in hot pursuit, arms outstretched, fingers wiggling. A few hectic moments proceeded as Paul dodged around the settee with John trying to capture him. Excitement made Paul clumsy and he tripped over the edge of the rug and that was it ... John was on him ... literally ... finding the edge of his ribs, a manic gleam in his eyes, a flash of white teeth ... while Paul squirmed and kicked and flailed in an attempt to free himself.  
"No ... no ... John ... stop it .. don't ... I'll ... I'll wet myself ..." tears of laughter streamed down Paul's face as he tried desperately to free himself from John's clutches.

Then the doorbell rang.  
Not the shop bell.  
Their doorbell.  
Strident, cutting across the giggles and laughter.  
John felt Paul freeze, his eyes going from sparkling green to black in a flash.  
It rang again.  
Paul licked his lips nervously.  
Could be anyone, John told himself, trying to hold on to the light-hearted moment they'd just shared.  
The body beneath him was still, as if holding a breath.

"You go and close the fridge door" John released him "I'll go see who it is."  
Paul nodded.   
He looked as if he'd been drained of any other action.

John pushed himself off the floor, off Paul, automatically squaring his shoulders.  
If this was bad news, he needed his shoulders for Paul to lean on.  
Even as he crossed the room he was aware of Paul behind him, the quiet 'thud' of a door being closed.  
He tried to remain positive, but every fibre of his being was screaming the opposite.  
Maybe ... just maybe ... they could ignore it.  
Pretend they weren't here.  
It rang again.

John blinked, hoping, and peered into the camera.  
Tom.  
Fuck.  
And catching the camera at regular intervals the flashing of blue lights.  
No, John thought. No, no, no.  
"John? Who is it?"  
John tried to keep his voice positive, but the flashing blue lights were not a good sign.  
"It's Tom."

John's feet carried him down the stairs while his mind was elsewhere.  
Through the glass door he could see Tom dallying, gazing up at the CCTV camera, at the window above the shop, shuffling on his feet.  
Taking a deep breath, John opened the door.  
The police car had hazard warning lights flashing as well as the blue light and the whole effect was one of garish colours clashing, filling the night.  
Tom's face flooded with relief at the sight of John.  
"Thank God ... I was worrying you were out."  
Someone was sitting at the wheel of the police car, face impassive, watching.  
Tom spoke swiftly. "Look ... I'm really sorry about this. If we could have avoided it ..."  
John frowned. Had he missed something? What was Tom apologising for?  
"... we have no option. We need to see Paul."  
Of everything John was not expecting that.  
They had said ... literally, almost, promised, that Paul would be kept out of it.  
Out of all the shit.

"No". John said it calmly.  
In fact, he wasn't even sure if he had said it.  
Part of him wanted to slam the door shut. Even if he did like Tom.  
He wanted to turn the clock back.  
Back a few minutes.  
Paul beneath him, red-faced and laughing.  
That was what he wanted. That's where they should have stopped.  
"John, I'm really .... " If John had spoken, Tom was ignoring the negative response, and was barrelling on, anxious, stammering almost in his attempt to get words out.  
"What's up?"  
He felt Paul arrive beside him ... no, he could sense him. Even if he shut his eyes.  
The warmth, the smell.  
Tom's eyes swivelled to take in the newcomer, a strange mix of relief and dismay displayed in them.  
"Paul, we need to talk to you." Tom shook his head. "I'm sorry. I'm really sorry about this."

John turned to look at Paul who turned at the same moment to look at John.  
Paul was remarkably calm, at least outwardly.  
"You said ... " in the face of Paul's silence John felt bound to defend him. "... you said he wouldn't be involved. You said ..."  
"I'm sorry" Tom said, then turned to look at Paul, repeating the words. "I'm sorry."  
"Well, sorry don't cut it. He ain't going with you, if that's what you're about to say."  
John folded his arms and did his best to look menacing, despite the fact his insides were doing whirlies.  
There was a silence, then Tom shifted uncomfortably.  
"I'm sorry, but Paul doesn't have a choice. I could show you the official summons, but I'd prefer that he just came willingly."  
John's face drained of colour. "What?"  
Tom ignored John and turned to face Paul directly.  
"Paul, I'm really, really sorry about this. If we could have avoided involving you we would have. It will, I promise, only take a few minutes. We have a couple of questions we need to ask you .... "  
John pushed between them ... "Well, just fuckin' ask him now. He doesn't have to go to the station, does he? Not for that. Just ask him."  
Tom sighed. "Not that simple, John. We need to ask Paul under interview conditions."  
"Why?" John shot at him.  
Tom's gaze flinched. He didn't want to answer this one. Not really. He didn't want to unsettle Paul.  
"We just ... do ... John."  
"Why?" John was persistent.  
Tom fingered the official summons that rested in his trouser pockets.  
He prayed to a God he didn't believe in that they would understand. Not take it the wrong way.  
"Because ... because we need to be able to see Paul's reaction."  
"What????" John shot out. He felt Paul move nearer to his side.  
Tom scratched his nose, shoved his fingers through his air, unsure of how to explain. How to put this.  
"We .... we need to see .... " fuck, this was difficult. Tom stared at the ground, the scratching of his hair becoming more frantic, strongly aware of Paul's wide-eyed disturbing stare fixed upon him. His voice diminished to a whisper " .. how Paul reacts to .. the questions."  
If only he didn't know them so well it would be easier.   
If only he didn't have such overwhelming sympathy for their situation.  
For Paul's situation.  
There was a moment's silence.  
"Okay."  
It was Paul's as yet unheard voice that broke the silence.  
Both Tom and John looked at him in surprise.  
He gave an awkward shrug.  
"Seems I don't have any choice, do I?"  
It was as if Tom suddenly jerked awake, hastily reassuring.  
"Paul, the questions are not to do with you .... well, they are, but not in that way. Nothing about ... about what happened. Please be assured."  
Ignoring the tide of rising colour that began to flood his face, Paul gave another shrug. He could feel John's eyes gazing at him in astonishment.  
Inside of him was a tiny kernel of resentment. A tiny but growing urge to fight back.  
He felt John's fingers slide around his wrist, and he sighed.  
"I'll just go get my jacket."  
Tom smiled. Actually smiled. A full-blown smile of relief and something else. Pride? Pride that Paul could summon up the courage to do this?  
"Can I come?"  
John's voice was remarkably polite.  
Tom nodded. "Of course you can. No problem."

 

Of course there is a big difference between saying you would do something and actually doing it.  
There is also a big difference between standing in the small front porch of your home and standing in the interview (interrogation?) room of the police headquarters.  
Surrounded by people who ... know. Know things.  
Paul wasn't meeting anyone's eyes. He was shrinking inside himself, searching for that moment's courage he'd been able to find. Where it had gone. Disappeared to.  
When he did finally glance up it was to see that inspector ... the one that seemed so dispassionate.   
Eyes tired and despairing of a world he'd seen the wrong side of so often.  
Cahill, that was his name. Inspector Cahill.  
And Tom was there.  
And Sean, sending waves of empathy across the room to him.  
And John, too, beside him.  
And ... someone else. Paul saw him out of the corner of his eye. Some guy sitting with open notebook, pen poised.  
Waiting to catch his words.  
Paul swallowed nervously.  
He didn't think he could talk.

The Inspector waved his hand languidly at a chair placed the opposite side of the desk to him.  
"Please sit down, Mr. McCartney."  
No one had the nerve to point out the title was now Lennon.  
Paul slid nervously into the chair, his legs already on the verge of giving way.  
He could feel the Inspector's eyes boring into him as he stared determinedly at the scratched wood of the desk.  
"I have three questions for you. I only require you to answer yes or no, do you understand?"  
Keeping his eyes fixed firmly on the desk, Paul nodded.  
He felt the weight of everyone in the room watching him and he desperately wanted to vanish. Slide under the desk. His memory fled back down the years to when he was a little boy and he used to hide underneath the table, taking with him his favourite books and toys, out of everyone's sight. Creating his own world.  
" ... if you can recall them."  
Paul fumbled, his thoughts skidding back but too late.  
What had he been asked? Shit, they'd think he was stupid.  
Couldn't concentrate for one moment.  
He shouldn't have come.  
But ... wait .. he hadn't had a choice anyway, had he?  
He forced himself to look up, to meet the Inspector's eyes.  
To his surprise their was a flicker of sympathy in there.  
"I .. " he cleared his throat, which had dried up. "I'm sorry?"  
Patiently the Inspector repeated his sentence.  
"I'm going to read out three names. I want to know if you can recall them. If, at any point, you may have heard them. I want you to take your time and think slowly and carefully. You need only say yes or no, but please ... take your time." The Inspector leaned back slightly, holding Paul's eyes. "Do you understand?"  
Paul nodded, chewing his lip lightly.  
It seemed as if, without even moving his head, the Inspector gathered everyone in the room up as he nodded quietly back.  
"Okay. The first name is Ryan Hemmings. Ryan Hemmings."  
The Inspector repeated it slowly and carefully.  
A small frown creased Paul's brow. No. He shook his head. "No."  
There was a small stir in the room and the guy in the corner with a notebook wrote something. Paul wondered vaguely how he could write so much when he'd only replied no?  
"Second name. Jason Browning. Jason Browning."  
As before, the name was repeated.  
Paul felt more relaxed now he knew what was coming, what was expected.  
But the name meant nothing, and again he shook his head, said no, and the note-taker wrote lots more.  
He was sure he felt a slump in the Inspector's posture. A disappointment that he'd not been able to come up with the goods.  
"Okay." Yes, he wasn't mistaking it. The voice was tired. "Last name, and then you can go. Jonathan Tunney. Jonathan Tunney."  
The name rolled over Paul's head.  
No, it didn't mean anything.  
He'd never heard it before.  
He felt a slight glimmer of relief that that was it ... it was over.   
He'd be able to go. Go home.  
He began to shake his head 'no' again when the next words stopped him.  
The Inspector cleared his throat.  
"He was known as Jonty."

 

It was dark. Pitch black. He couldn't see.  
His other senses were on high alert.  
The atmosphere was tense, like an elastic band stretched to it's limits and about to snap.  
A thumb ... it felt like a thumb ... rested on his cheekbone, the pad calloused, rough and hard.  
Beneath that touch he could sense anger. Passion. Violence.  
He shivered, his heart thumping loudly.  
He was never sure if the next beat would ever happen.  
Life hung in a balance, and he had no control.

"I want this one."  
The voice was strongly accented. Eastern European? Slavic?  
There was an infinitesimal pause, then a bored voice with a local accent replied "He's not for sale."

The thumb travelled down his cheek bone, pressing on harder, resting at the corner of his mouth.  
There was intense displeasure in that pressure.  
The same words were repeated. Same tone. Same volume.  
"I want this one."

The persistence caused whoever else was there to take more notice as the response held more animation this time.  
"Like I said, that one's not for sale."

The thumb pressed harder, pushing Paul's lips against his teeth.  
"I have money. I can pay."

There was a snort of derision.  
"I'm sure you can. Don't make any difference, mate, that one's spoken for."

The silence stretched.  
Paul could hear his heart hammering. Thump, thump, thump.

"Who spoken him for?"

Pause as the other person tried to sort the sentence out.  
"He belongs to someone called Luke."  
"I see this Luke, yes? I can offer plenty. He sell him to me."  
This time the sigh was heaved in frustration.  
"Look, like I said ... he ain't for sale. No way would Luke sell him. You've got Jonty ... that's enough."

"I say good, that is good, this Jonty. I want this one too."  
"Bleedin' hell, you're like a bleedin' broken record stuck on repeat, aren't you? Watch my lips. He ... ain't ... for .... sale."

Silence descended again.  
The thumb travelled across Paul's lips slowly.  
His breath hitched.  
"Can I fuck him?"

A bubble of derogatory laughter burst out.  
"Don't give up, do you?"  
"I have money."  
"Yeah, so you keep on saying."  
"I can pay. I pay well."  
The laughter slowed to a chuckle, to a sigh, to a rustling of papers.  
"He don't come cheap."  
The thumb was removed. There was a shift in the body next to him. Another rustle of paper, but different. Money?  
Yeah, money, Paul guessed.  
And still his heart was thumping loudly.  
Now someone grasped his wrist.  
Different fingers.  
"Give us a minute to get him ready."

 

Paul's reaction told the Inspector what he wanted to know.  
Sean moved in quickly, even before John got there.  
"It's okay, Paul ... just hold it there a moment. If you can ... just ... hold it."  
Paul blinked at Sean, not understanding, but other voices were talking too .... most noticeably the Inspector, his eyes alight with the promise of new information.  
"What can you recall?" He was leaning forward eagerly towards Paul.  
"I ... I ... " Paul couldn't find his voice.   
John was there, a frown on his brow, looking worried.  
But it was Sean ... Sean who blocked everyone's view of Paul, and spoke to him softly, soothingly.  
"What happened to Jonty, Paul?"  
The conversation was still ringing in his ears, the memories clear as day.  
Paul fastened on Sean, knowing he had to do this. He had to tell them.  
"He .. he was sold." His voice was a whisper.  
"Can you recall who to? Anyone you knew?"  
Paul shook his head, no.   
"Anything at all, Paul?"  
Sean knew the gap was slight before Paul's mind shut it all back out.  
"He had an accent ... very strong ... foreign .. " Paul noticed Sean glance across at Tom, at the Inspector, before focusing back on Paul.  
That was when Paul noticed his wrists were being held in Sean's grasp, as if to ground him. Hold him there.  
"And .. and his thumbs were calloused ... he seemed very ... very ... angry ... violent .... he .. he ... "  
Paul closed his eyes.  
He wouldn't let the memories run any longer.

On the drive back, Paul rested his head on the window of the back seat, letting the voices of Sean and John wash over him. He wasn't really listening ... not really, although he couldn't help but catch snatches of the whispered conversation ... John asking, Sean replying.  
" ... names were mentioned ..."  
" .. so did they? ... "  
" ... missing list for nearly three years or more ... "  
" ... how old were .... "  
" ... around the seventeen, eighteen ... same as ... "  
" ... parents think ... "  
" ... God knows. Dead, possibly, if they're lucky ..."  
" .. could have been Paul .."  
Paul heard that, and felt their gazes switch to him, but he gave no acknowledgement he'd heard, just continued gazing out of the window.  
Their was a slight shift, as if both men were digesting John's words.  
Paul hadn't known there were others. There was no reason he should. Not until that particular moment, when he'd been ...   
He changed his position, crossing a different leg, trying to drive out the persistent memories.  
That was the third chip shop they'd passed, and the fourth Indian takeaway. Depending on the route taken to get home by the driver he was taking a bet the chip shops would win.  
" ... parents had reported them missing ..."  
" .. but no one ..."  
He shut out John's question.  
Who was there to report him missing?  
His father? Fat chance.  
His brother? Wouldn't have thought.  
Oh ... an Indian. Now that made five. Maybe he was wrong about the chip shops winning.  
Maybe he was wrong about a lot of things.  
Maybe ...  
" ... be alright?"  
John was looking at him. He knew he was. He heard the whispered reply.  
"I hope so."

John bundled him through the front door leading to the flat, and up the stairs.   
There was no other word would do.  
He felt incapable of moving.  
He felt as if he was in a waking dream.  
John was chatting brightly, talking of doing some beans on toast, talking of them getting an early night, talking of a play on the telly ... talking ...

"Shit! Forgot to put the alarm on."  
Paul looked disinterestedly at John, who offered him a big smile, encouraging him to ... move on ... not dwell.  
"Hey, why don't you go and find a tin of beans while I nip back down? It'll only take me a second."  
John's smile may have been big and bright but his brow was creased in a frown.  
He was worried.  
Paul knew he was worried.  
And he knew he was the reason, but .. he couldn't stir himself.  
He nodded, and John looked closely at him, assessing, before thundering back down the stairs.  
Paul moved slowly into the kitchen.

It had been a traumatic experience with that guy.  
He'd been kept blindfolded throughout.  
Which was not unusual.  
He could still remember how hard his heart had hammered.  
That's the one thing he really recalled.  
The fact he had never, before, felt so fearful of his life.

He opened a cupboard and took out a tin of beans, because that was what John had said to do.  
Then he saw the door.  
The door that led to the stairs.  
The stairs that led to the utility room.  
The utility room that opened out onto the garden.  
Freedom.

John thundered back up the stairs, his heart racing.  
He didn't like Paul's mood.  
He saw the bean tin on the kitchen side, and the open door.  
Muttering 'fuck' under his breath, he clattered down the stairs.  
Even before he reached the garden he could hear a rhythmic thumping, as if someone was hammering something, although the sound was dull, muffled.  
Entering the garden John pinpointed the source of the sound. Paul was leaning with his left hand on the brick of the house, his right hand, curled into a fist, was hitting the wall, his knuckles bloodied and raw.  
"Fuckin' hell ... Paul ... Paul stop it ... " John caught the figure, captured the bleeding right hand even though Paul attempted to continue.  
He was whimpering under his breath ... God knows what shit ... and seemed oblivious of John. In fact, it was quite a tussle to pull him away from the site at all.  
"Jesus Christ, y' daft lad. What are you doing ... " John's grip tightened and Paul slumped, defeated.  
"We need to clean you up, come on."  
John tugged him in the direction of the stairs, anxiously surveying the damaged knuckles.  
Paul was unresponsive and let himself be dragged up the stairs, his hand forced under running water over the sink.  
He flinched as the cold, gradually running to warm, coursed over the damaged skin.  
"What the fuck were you thinking, doing that? Stay here ... you got me? Just ... stay here while I find something to bandage it with. Don't move. Got it?" John's mind was racing. Did they have bandages? Ritchie would but ... Ritchie wasn't here. He could bet that George would think about things like that too ... they were both far more competent than he was.  
"Fuck ... fuck ... " John muttered.  
At least Paul had done as told and stayed, the sound of the water providing a surrealistic background as it cascaded into the sink.  
John grabbed a dishcloth from a drawer, twisting it to make a temporary bandage.  
Removing Paul's hand from under the water he surveyed the damage with worried eyes. All four knuckles were badly damaged, the skin gone, blood flowing freely.  
"Jesus Christ" he hissed as he tried to wind the bandage round them.  
He could feel Paul's eyes on him, and he dared to glance up, not sure what he would find.  
Paul was watching from from emotionless eyes ... they just looked very ... dark. Unnaturally dark.  
He tried to lighten the mood. "I only asked you to open a tin of beans, Paul."  
There was no response.  
John sighed.   
"Look ... it's getting late. I'll make us some beans on toast. Why don't you get ready for bed, eh? I'll give you a shout when tea's ready. Can you cope? Y' know ... with your hand like that?"  
He wasn't sure if Paul was on the same planet or registering anything at the moment, but the younger man turned obediently and headed to the bedroom.

It was but moments later, after John had cleaned the sink and opened the beans, that he became aware of a presence.  
He turned, startled, to find Paul right behind him, so close he could feel his breath.  
"Paul???" John's voice faltered.  
The younger man wore not a stitch of clothing and he was hard ... so fucking hard ... his eyes still black, pupils blown. He pushed John back against the counter, his breath hot.  
"Fuck me!"  
Unnerved, John tried to push him off. This wasn't Paul.  
This wasn't the Paul he knew.  
Okay .. he could be a randy little sod who loved a romp, but not ... this.  
Not this demon from hell with hot breath and wanton lips that was shoving him back against the counter with devilish strength.  
"Paul, I ... uummf " ... Paul's tongue was in his mouth, his hands pulling at John's clothes.  
For a second, John struggled, but hell ... this was hard to resist ... his own body reacting swiftly to Paul's demands.  
"Fuck me ... now".   
Paul's voice was deep and heavy, guttural, almost growling.  
John opened his mouth to speak, realised he didn't know what to say, and promptly gave up as Paul dragged him down onto the kitchen floor.  
Just go along with it, a tiny bit of John's mind ... the only functioning part ... thought as he took hold of Paul's arms and settled the hot, lithe body beneath him. He couldn't go fast enough for Paul ... his clothes disappeared at a tremendous rate, t-shirt ripping, jeans dragged off, a hand thrust down into his boxers, demanding.  
"Jesus, Paul .. I .. "  
He never got any more words out as Paul reached his arms round and tugged John to him, clasping his legs around John's waist.  
A tongue probed into his mouth again, then round his ear ... Jesus, had Paul turned into a demon with a forked tongue or something? How could he be everywhere at once.  
"Come on ... come on .. now ... "  
John couldn't even draw a breath ... the lad seemed to have doubled the amount of arms he had too.  
A little warning bell rang in John's head .. this really was not the Paul he knew ... it really ...  
"Now!!!"  
Paul literally shoved himself onto John in desperation, and John entered him, spurred on by his partners demands.  
Paul spilled almost immediately with a cry and a groan, and drawn in by the orgasm John followed, feeling Paul's hands slip from round his neck, the body beneath him seeming to diminish, returning to normal .....   
Drawing a deep breath, John pushed himself up on his hands, and met Paul's eyes.  
There was blood across his face and in his hair and ... yes ... there was blood across their bodies too as Paul's knuckles were still bleeding.  
John pulled carefully out and surveyed Paul who was watching him from wide, rather frightened eyes.  
John attempted a hesitant smile.  
"A bit keen there, weren't we?" he joked.  
Paul looked like a child who'd woken up from a nightmare and didn't know where he was.  
John could see him gathering scattered thoughts together.  
As often happened, the next sentence made no sense. At least, not to John.  
"There's six Indian takeaways but only five fish 'n' chip shops."  
Paul blinked, as if surprised by what had just come out of his mouth.  
John stifled a giggle and shoved sweaty hair out of Paul's eyes.  
"I really needed to know that, love."


	58. Chapter 58

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay ... this is short ... but it's where I've got to and I'm gonna be away for a bit and I have lots of things happening in my life so decided to post this now, just so you know I've not given up on this fic.  
> Thanks for all your lovely comments ... I love reading them.

For the next few days Paul seemed rather subdued and ... needy.  
John couldn't find another word for it.  
Definitely needy.  
Any chance he had he would lean into John, searching for a kiss, a cuddle ... comfort.  
Reassurance.

John sensed a turbulence going on under the surface.  
Depths had been stirred, old memories surfacing.  
He tried to give Paul all the love and comfort he could, hoping it would keep the demons away.

It was a few days before they made love again though.  
Although John would not have described their last occasion as 'making love' exactly.  
Neither, he figured, would Paul.

When John made a move in on Paul the following night, he was surprised when Paul suddenly shrank from him, but glossed over the incident quickly. Instead he pretended he was simply tucking the two of them into bed, drawing the duvet up to their chins and giving Paul a quick peck on the cheek in passing.  
He saw the relief in Paul's eyes;  
not a good thing.

 

The text was from Sean.  
Simple, straightforward.  
'How's Paul?'  
John replied with one word.  
'Disturbed.'

It haunted John, the fact there'd been others.  
And what had probably happened to them could so easily have happened to Paul.  
"When a person goes missing" Tom explained "the most critical period is the first twenty four hours. After that, the trail goes cold very quickly."  
That night John gripped Paul's arms tightly, holding him close.  
He needed comfort too.

The summons came ... John had been expecting it.  
Due to appear in court the following Tuesday.  
He glanced at Paul, who was busy chopping vegetables for their evening meal.  
He felt a surge of love for his husband.  
Paul tried so hard ... put so much effort into everything he did .... he needed a break.  
They both did.

Feeling John's eyes on him, Paul glanced up.  
"Okay?"  
John was drawn to him like a magnet, moving in, capturing the slight figure in his arms.  
He gently removed the knife from Paul's hands ... knife! ... fuck! ... what was he doing letting Paul have a knife? ... too many memories of other occasions crowded in ... and pressed him against the counter.   
"I love you."  
Paul leaned into John. He could feel the breath gusting against his neck.  
"I love you too Johnny."  
John leaned back, surveying his husband from amber eyes, pushing back a lock of dark hair.  
"No. You don't get me."  
A frown creased Paul's brow.  
John persisted. "I love you, as in ... you. As you are. Everything about you. All your little ways and ... " John searched his mind for another word, but couldn't find one " ... ways ... "  
he finished lamely.  
A smile curved Paul's lips. A smile that reached his eyes.  
"Have you been drinking?"  
John poked him on the nose and Paul scrunched his face up.  
"Don't be so cheeky" admonished John.

They made love that night. Slow, gentle, tender.  
Paul fell asleep curled up in John's arms.  
Hopefully, things were gonna get better.  
He realised, as he hugged Paul to him, the curves and planes of Paul's body fitting perfectly into his, like a jigsaw, he'd had this thought before.

Stu was going to come in and help Paul on Tuesday, George cover at least a few hours on Wednesday, and then Ritchie, whose day off it was, was going to make himself available to at least keep the shop open on Thursday afternoon if needed while Paul was at the care home. Thursday was a quiet day anyway. It may be that the trial, for John, wouldn't drag on an extra day, but best be prepared.

John knew Paul wasn't keen on having Stu, although he hadn't said anything. When occasion demands you take whatever help is offered. He'd seen the flash of dismay in Paul's eyes when he'd arranged it, although it had been swiftly covered up. John's eyes flickered to the large painting that hung above their fireplace. It was a stunning piece of art work, even if it was incomprehensible to most people unless explained. And explaining it was ... um ... awkward. As John had found out.

Ritchie, on his first visit with Lottie to their flat, since they'd properly settled, examined it with raised eyebrows.  
"Very ... colourful .... John" he'd said in a lazy, slightly sarcastic, Liverpool drawl " but ... if you don't mind me asking ... what is it?"  
"It's me and Paul" John said.  
Ritchie's eyebrows shot into his floppy brown fringe.  
"Serious?"  
John grinned. He couldn't be offended. Not at Ritchie.  
"Yeah. It portrays the energy that Stu sees bouncing between us."  
"Oh!" The response was droll.  
Ritchie surveyed it with more aware eyes after the explanation, but no further insight.  
"Who's who?"  
Did he mean that? Or was he just winding John up?  
"I'm red, Paul is blue."  
"Figures" Ritchie snorted quietly under his breath and turned away to accept the beer that was being offered him by Paul.  
That he DID understand.

It had been a joy to both the young men to be able to ask friends round and entertain, although their friendship group was still very small. John noticed Paul was at his most confident with those he knew well ... i.e. George and Ritchie.   
That was it.  
They needed, he decided, more friends.  
So he asked Stu and Astrid round and he cooked what he considered a passable meal.  
He'd practically had to drag Paul out of their bedroom to socialise.  
Paul had adhered himself firmly to John's side and was quiet all night, rarely uttering more than a couple of words, no matter how much Astrid valiantly tried to include him in the conversation.

To say the evening was a disappointment to John would be an understatement.  
He knew Paul could be witty and entertaining and could talk for England, and he wanted to share the Paul he knew and loved with others, not this sullen young man sulking at his side. He could see Stu casting glances at Paul under his lashes. God! Maybe it had been one big mistake to ask Stu to help on Tuesday. Wryly he wondered how many customers they might lose when faced with two icebergs?

So what was this aversion Paul had to Stu? Was it purely jealousy on Paul's part? And if so ... why? For the life of him John could not see a reason for Paul to be jealous ... unless ... a thought began to grow in John's mind ... did he THINK there'd been something between them?  
Well ... there hadn't.  
Could have been, though.  
They'd danced around one another, never quite touching, never quite meeting.  
Aware of the attraction. Of the ... curiosity.  
That Stu maybe could ... possibly ... be attracted ... to a man ... to him ... to John ... and maybe take that step.  
A relationship.  
The pull was definitely there, but the line had never been crossed.  
That had been Stu ... not quite got the guts to try ... have a go.  
The more he'd held back, the more interested John had been.  
Typical!  
They'd been good friends though, and even if Stu had never quite overcome his reluctance, they'd remained friends ... until Stu had suddenly, mysteriously, vanished off the art scene. There'd been rumours. 'Gone to Paris' was one. That would figure. 'Gone to Hamburg' was another. Less likely, but ... wouldn't that be just like Stu? John made a few vague enquiries, but life had got in the way ... and a disastrous relationship. He realised, with a jolt, he never thought about his ex any more. Andrew hadn't been in his mind for a long, long time. He'd been well pushed out by ... by ...

John heard a grunt and turned to see Paul hopping around on one foot trying to pull a resisting sock off his other foot.

... by this rather endearing Adonis.

"Paul, what y' doing?"  
Paul halted, sock hanging off. He wiggled his foot in John's direction.  
"It's stuck."  
John surveyed his partner who was clad in nothing but one sock and a pair of boxers.  
"I'll pull it off if you let me do your .. er .. "  
A smile lit up Paul's face.  
"Deal."  
In one flick John had removed the sock, the next flick was the boxers.  
Revealing a tempting hard on.  
Paul was watching him quietly, eyes dark, a hint of mischief.  
"Something I can help you with here?" John enquired.  
"Mmm ... maybe ... "

It was later, with Paul snuggled against him, drifting on the edge of sleep, that John posed the question that had been bugging him for so long.   
He was twisting that piece of hair that curled determinedly over the left ear, twirling it round his fingers, watching Paul drift off.  
"Paul?"  
"Ungh?"  
"Why don't you like Stu?"  
If he didn't know better he'd have thought Paul had gone to sleep. Not heard his question.  
But he did. Know him better, that is.  
He could sense the cogs whirring.  
Finally there was a hint of a sigh, and Paul twisted round, looking up at him.  
"I don't ... dislike him, Johnny ... I just don't ... don't ... " Paul chewed his lip, thinking. "I don't ... get him."  
John frowned. "Get him?"  
He removed his fingers from Paul's hair, watching it spring back into a curl.  
Paul didn't reply, just continued to watch John from blank eyes.  
John found it rather scary, how Paul could slip on a mask just like that.  
"I don't understand. What is there to 'get' ?"  
Paul shrugged. "Nothin', I guess. That's it. I just ... don't."  
John couldn't fathom this conversation.  
"He's just a normal guy, Paul."  
"Is he?" Paul shot back.  
John eased back on his elbows, better to survey his husband.  
"What's that supposed to mean?"  
Paul dropped eye contact, shrugging again.  
A distance grew between them ... stretching .... words unspoken, doubts unheard ...  
Paul suddenly rolled over, burying his face in his pillow.  
John found he was staring at the back of Paul's head.  
Exasperation made him speak more sharply than he ever normally would ... at least to Paul.  
"Do you think we fucked or summat?"  
Paul rolled back over, caution in his eyes but a determined tilt to his chin.  
"I don't know what to think."  
John blinked. Paul was remarkably calm, and the response was not what he was expecting.  
He opened his mouth to reply, didn't know what to say, shut it again, then opened it once more feeling a reply ... or denial ... was called for.  
"We never did anything."  
"Good." Paul rolled back once more. "In that case, I'll go to sleep."  
John's mouth dropped open. "What? What the fuck? Paul .. will you stop ignoring me ... Paul ... "  
Paul's muffled words were uttered into the pillow ... to John it sounded like 'mnotignorinwannasleep' and he found he was looking at the back of Paul's dark head again.  
John frowned.  
"Is that what it is? Did you think ... me and Stu ... we never ... "  
There was an unintelligible muffled reply.  
"For Chrissakes, talk to me Paul."  
Paul rolled back once more, two spots of colour high on his cheeks, eyes glittering fiercely.  
It struck John that he was angry.  
He'd never seen Paul angry.  
"Maybe I don't like the fact he knows things about me."  
John frowned, caught unawares. "Knows things?"  
He was genuinely puzzled.  
The two spots of colour turned to an overall blush.  
Realisation dawned ... Stu's words ... 'the things I've heard, John, about Paul ...' spoken aeons ago ... coming back to him.  
Paul was watching him from hooded eyes, a mixture of pride and humiliation.  
"I .. I don't think ... Paul, Stu doesn't think anything wrong of you ... I'm sure he doesn't."  
"Doesn't he?" Paul's chin tilted a little more, defiance in every stance. "He doesn't think I'm right for you ... he .. he looks at me as if .. as if ... "  
John squatted back on his heels.  
"You're imagining things" he denied hotly.  
"Am I?" Paul's response was flat. Like his eyes, shuttered.   
"Paul..."  
"G' night, John ..." Paul rolled over, taking most of the duvet with him, effectively making himself a cocoon, a barrier between him and John.

Stupefied, John sat further back on his heels till the beginnings of a cramp made him shift, the bed dipping with his weight.  
He couldn't let this go.  
"Paul, you are imagining things." He sounded as if he was talking to a petulant child and winced. That wasn't likely to go down very well.  
Paul remained perfectly still, the rise and fall of his back, which was all John could see, telling it's own story.  
"Paul."  
Silence.  
"You're not asleep yet."  
Silence.  
"Come on, you're not fooling me."  
Silence.

John didn't like being ignored.  
"Don't 'nore me Mimi" had been his most often spoken phrase as a little boy.

John heaved a sigh.  
"Okay. Okay then, you wanna play it like that. I can't help sort your problem if you don't talk to me."  
"I don't have a problem, John."  
Ah ha! A response at least.  
"Seems to me that you do. Seems to me you think Stu is harbouring thoughts about you."  
Paul's words were muffled by the duvet that he'd pulled up to his neck.  
"I don't think, I know."  
John rolled his eyes.  
"Where d'you get that idea from."  
Silence.  
"Well, you must get it from somewhere. Haven't exactly dreamed it up, have you? Seems this fixation you have is very definite."  
"S' not a fixation."  
"What is it then?"  
There was a long, stretched out pause.  
John didn't think Paul was going to reply.  
He was about to speak again when Paul finally said "A feeling."  
"Oh! A 'feeling'." John's words put the word in speechmarks.  
Paul rolled further over, burying his face completely.  
"So" continued John " this 'feeling' as you put it ...."  
he halted, startled, as Paul flung the duvet back, and glared at John from dark eyes.  
"Why you doing this, John?"  
"What?"  
"This .. this ... " Paul threw his arm sideways and a glass of water went sailing off the bedside cabinet. John winced at the sound of breaking glass but Paul didn't even bat an eye.  
" .. this ... inquisition?" Paul continued.  
Jesus. The lad looked quite upset.  
John bit his lip. He knew he had the ability to push people's buttons, wind them up, but he'd not meant ... well, he didn't think ... not Paul ... not really ... or had he? A game .. just a vicious game. He suddenly felt contrite.  
"Sorry, love."  
Paul's glare subsided, his eyes suspiciously bright.  
For a moment longer he held John's eyes, assessing, then rolled back again, burying his head in the scrunched up pillow.  
Tentatively John reached out the fingers of his right hand and traced the line of Paul's back bone ... every knobble, every bump ... and felt the younger man shiver under his touch.  
"I'm a bastard, I know." John's words were whispered.  
There was a vague attempt at a shrug.  
"I'll talk to Stu ... see he treats you properly ... "  
"Don't ... be so fuckin' embarrassing" he heard Paul whisper.  
He traced his fingers back up the spine, up the neck, and into the rumpled black hair.  
"No one's gonna think wrong about you, babe ... I won't let them."


	59. Chapter 59

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again ... apologies ... it's where I've got to so I'm posting .. sort of half a chapter???? Hope you enjoy. So much going on at the moment that writing keeps getting interrupted ... ugh!!!

John ran his fingers under his collar trying to loosen it ... he felt stifled. Stuffed, like a suet pudding, into clothes that were too tight for him. Well ... he ran his index finger under the collar again, feeling the damp sweat that was beginning to form ... they were too small. It was Paul's shirt ... deemed 'acceptable' for a court appearance ... and Paul's tie that was slowly strangling him. The thought was beginning slowly to grow that maybe he ought to invest in some smarter clothing. Borrowing Paul's was ... well ... just fucking embarrassing, as well as uncomfortable. By wiggling his finger really hard under his chin he seemed to get a bit of a gap ... just a bit ... enough to breathe ... enough to ..

"John ... what're you doing?"

Paul's voice startled him, and he jerked his finger from under the collar guiltily.  
With a soft 'tut tut' Paul moved in closer, straightening the tie, settling the collar.  
This close and John could smell him ... warm, musky, coconut and ..  
"John?"  
John smiled, discomfort forgotten.  
"Yes darling?"  
Paul batted him round the head.  
"Stop messin' around. You gotta look smart."  
John heaved a sigh ... all pretence of course.  
"Yes dear."  
Paul chuckled under his breath.  
"Stop bein' sarcastic."  
John quirked an eyebrow. "Sarcastic? Me?"

His phone buzzed.  
They stepped apart quickly.  
Life had suddenly got in the way.  
He saw Paul's eyes widen, then darken, ever changing with emotion.  
He cleared his throat. "Guess this is it."  
Paul hesitated, then leaned in suddenly.  
"I'm sorry."  
John blinked. "What? Sorry? What for? Not your fault y' daft lad."  
Paul's fingers plucked nervously at John's collar, straightening it again, picking imaginary lint off, trying to keep him near, not let him go.  
John's visage softened, and he captured the restless fingers.  
His words were soft, the message hard. "I'm gonna go help nail them bastards, babe."

A police car was waiting outside, driver unfamiliar. John squared his shoulders, aware of Paul watching his departure from the interior of the shop, Stu standing at a respectful distance.  
Respectful.  
Too right. Better bloody be.  
He'd probably been harder than he'd need be, shoving the message home.  
"I'm paying you to do a job here, Stu, not sit as judge or jury."  
Stu had looked alarmed, puzzled, frowned ... "What? What you on about?"  
John knew he could be threatening. He didn't want to be threatening ... not with a friend. And Stu was his friend, but Paul ... Paul was his everything.  
He was terse out of necessity. He didn't want Stu to think he was messing around.

As the car drove off John sighed and leaned his head back, shutting his eyes.  
It had been a mixed few days, knowing he was going to be involved in the court case, trying to keep the shop running, trying to keep Paul's pecker up, trying to keep a finger in every pie, on every button, not let anyone down. And .... Mimi ....  
well ... she'd sussed out something was going on. Those eagle sharp eyes of hers. That nose for sniffing things out.

They'd had her over for tea on Sunday. Sounded a simple thing to do but, to John and Paul, had been a big mountain. It had been John's idea, particularly after their last disastrous, on Paul's part, visit to her house. John thought his husband would be more confident if he was in his own home and ... well ... a bit of John was chuffed that he could do this. Invite her over. It made him feel grown up ... not that he wasn't of course ... hmm ... depended which way you looked at that. Responsible. He was responsible enough an adult that he could invite his aunt over, and wouldn't she like that fact. The thought of John being responsible.

Of course Paul had taken some convincing. The thought of inviting and entertaining anyway, unless it was George or Ritchie, was a big issue ... as in BIG ISSUE ... to Paul. Capital letters big. Once John had coaxed and encouraged Paul to look at the positive aspect of this BIG ISSUE ... like pointing out the fact Paul could always bolt out into the garden if feeling stressed ... he had the younger man onboard. Then they'd planned Sunday Tea ... as in traditional SUNDAY TEA ... also capital letters. Paul listed all the things a traditional Sunday tea should contain (where he got this information from John didn't know but he seemed very definite over it). Cucumber sandwiches. Ham. Cherry tomatoes. A selection of cheeses. Freshly baked bread. Salad. Fruit ... tinned ... maybe ... with fresh cream and ... ooh ... ice cream. Different flavours.

S' funny, John mused, how Paul could go from being totally unenthusiastic to absolutely O.T.T. in such a short time as he eyed with dismay the growing list of items Paul was jotting down.

"S' not a party, babe ... just you, me an' Mimi."

Paul halted, pen in hand. "Just wanna do it right, Johnny."

All in all it had been extremely successful. Paul had vacuumed and dusted and scrubbed the kitchen and himself to within an inch of it's life. Yankee candles had been lit ... John had absolutely no idea why as the flat smelt fine to him. Bang on the dot of 4.00 their doorbell rang and Paul shot over to the settee, shook all the cushions (again!), then proceeded to do a funny jiggle of a dance as he looked at John from wide eyes. John had the feeling that, one day, Paul may yet take flight. 

On his way to answer the door John paused to discretely close the door to their bedroom. Not that it, too, wasn't tidy and acceptable. It was just that .. well ... he had the somewhat uncomfortable feeling that Mimi might not quite get the fact that they actually slept together. He had no idea really what she thought. Or if she thought. Or if she'd not allowed her thoughts to .. think .. as such. Anyway .. spare her embarrassment.

"Put the kettle on, eh?" he whispered to Paul in passing.  
Paul took flight into the kitchen.  
Yup, one day he sure would take off.

Her eyes were darting about as she entered the immaculate flat, searching for something to criticise. After all ... this was John. So ... messy. But she was pleasantly surprised and somewhat disappointed. She couldn't see anything wrong. Nothing at all. She 'harrumped' under her breath. What a pity ... all the little arguments she'd constructed in advance on why two men should not live together were of no use at all. There wasn't anything out of place. In fact she doubted she could have done as well herself.

And then Paul was standing in front of her, pink cheeked and jittery, holding out a cup of tea.  
Well ... mug.  
Hmmm. No cups then.   
She reached out her hand. "Thank you my dear."  
Paul nodded and coloured even more.

" 'ere, sit y' down, Mims." John indicated the settee with the plumped up cushions.  
Elegantly she folded her legs beneath her and sank onto the comfortable sofa.  
She felt she had to say something.  
"It all .. looks .. delightful" she offered.  
Then her eyes fell on the painting over the fireplace.  
"What on earth is that?"  
John felt Paul glance at him.  
"It's er ... er .. it was a wedding present" he replied.  
"Didn't the person like you?"  
It was such a John quip coming from Mimi that Paul couldn't help the chuckle that escaped his lips.  
Now it was John's turn to shoot a 'shut up' glare at Paul.  
"It's a fine piece of modern art, Mimi" John responded haughtily.  
Mimi sniffed disparagingly. "Maybe it is, John, but what on earth is it supposed to be?"  
John was strongly aware of Paul squirming uncomfortably and giving a discrete little cough.  
"It's .. er ... erm .. it's ... "  
" ... the church we got married in" Paul supplied hastily, flushing when both pairs of eyes spun to meet him, then clamming up completely.  
A smile touched John's face as he gazed adoringly at Paul. "Yeah" he confirmed gently " it's the wedding."  
Mimi looked in puzzlement from one to the other. "The ... wedding ..." she echoed feebly.  
"Uh huh". John was still gazing at his husband in adoration.  
"Oh."

Mimi LOVED Paul's traditional Sunday tea. Capital letters again.  
"Delightful, Paul" she purred as she nibbled at dainty sausage rolls. "Did you make them?"  
John burst out laughing and Paul kicked him on the shin under the table.  
"Er ... no. They're Sainsbury's."  
"Well, very nice, dear, anyway."  
Her eyes skimmed the room. She could only see one bedroom. Where did they both sleep?  
"I'd love to see the rest of your flat" she announced grandly, folding her napkin (napkin! Where had Paul got napkins from?)  
Now it was John's turn to stammer. "Uh ... well ... this is it, really ... er .. not much to see ... I mean .. well, it's only small, y'know, 'cos the shop takes up quite a lot, an' ... well, what else do you wanna see?"  
Mimi's eyes narrowed. Was there something being withheld from her?  
"I'm assuming you have a bathroom? Bedrooms?"  
John gulped. There it was. Bedrooms .. as in .. plural.  
Mimi was looking closely at him.  
"Well, er ... yeah, we .. er .. we ..."  
To his astonishment and utter surprise Paul stepped smoothly in.  
"We have a garden. Would you like to see the garden? I've been working in it with George. We've planted potatoes and some lettuce and carrots and I've done a patch of wildflowers and they're coming up really quickly ... well, I guess that's 'cos really wildflowers are a posh way of saying weeds, but they look good. And I'm hoping to grow some roses too 'cos, y'know, I love roses ...."  
Mimi blinked, bemused, trying desperately to keep up with all the words and John leaned back, a smirk on his face, and just let Paul get on with it.

Half an hour later and Mimi had forgotten all about seeing the rest of the flat. Glancing out of the kitchen window John could see her and Paul each lounging in a deckchair in the late sunshine of a July evening, Paul's hand graphically describing something to her, and Mimi nodding sagely. When it came time for her to go she leaned forward and gave John a peck on the cheek.  
"I've had a delightful time" she said, sounding almost surprised at the fact.  
"You are so fortunate to have met Paul. Such a lovely boy."  
Out of the corner of his eye John watched Paul smugly fold his arms across his chest and lean back against the door frame.  
"Er ... yeah ... I think so too, Mimi. Thanks for coming. See y' soon."

"Lovely boy?" teased John.  
Paul raised an eyebrow teasingly. "Yeah, I am."  
"What did you two talk about?" John was curious.  
Paul's other eyebrow joined the previous one, making him look surprised.  
"I don't know" he admitted.

"Nearly here, sir."  
John was jerked back to reality, and his eyes focused on the scene outside the car.  
The imposing red brick court.  
The reporters, still sniffing around, intrigued by this closed case.  
He let Paul slip softly from his mind.  
He'd been so proud of him. How he'd handled that day.   
How he'd handled Mimi.  
He'd wanted to tell him so, but couldn't, because he didn't want to sound patronising.  
Didn't want to damage the slowly rebuilding pride.

"I'll just pull round the back. Tom said to drop you there an' he's looking out for you."  
"Thanks" John gathered himself together physically and mentally, still feeling stuffed in Paul's clothes.  
Must get himself some smarter attire.  
"Reporters aren't giving up, are they?" the driver muttered, half to himself.  
John frowned slightly. Was he requiring a reply?  
Then he saw Tom exiting a side door, waving.  
It was good to see him ... despite the circumstances. A familiar figure in a nightmare scenario.  
His eyes were smiling, his face grim.  
"Good to see y', John. Let's go nail these bastards."

Later it was hard for John to elucidate the day's events.  
It was more of a series of snapshots. Snatches of conversation.  
He was exhausted, emotionally. Being drilled over those fucking photographs.  
A coffee had been thrust into his hands by Sean after his first appearance.  
Sympathy and concern in those warm brown eyes.  
"Y' holding up well, John. S' not easy, we know."  
Faces ... so many faces swam in his periphery.  
But one ... oh Jesus, one had stood out ... there he was ... blonde haired, blue eyed ... not looking quite as suave anymore. Dean.  
John felt a grim satisfaction at the sight.  
' ... may have been a willing accessory ...'  
Rage filled John.  
How could Paul have been willing? How?  
"They have to consider all elements, John."  
In quieter moments John's thoughts fled to Paul. Hoping he was getting on okay. Handling the shop. Handling Stu.  
"Press are getting edgy out there."  
Some guy in full regalia brushed by, white wig tumbling on his shoulders, black gown flying behind him, like a scene from a television series.  
"Want something to eat??"  
He was tired. He wanted to go home. He'd been told it would be easy. Sewn up. It wasn't.  
Some had money. Some were fighting.  
"Are you okay John? Holding up alright?"  
Sean was there, looking concerned. John rubbed his hand over his face.  
"Just wanna go home" he mumbled. "Just want it all to be over."  
He'd have to appear again tomorrow.  
Tom and Sean seemed to think it had gone well, despite the contradictions, the doubts, the questions.  
But then again, John was only viewing it from one side, and that was Paul's.  
The fact there'd been others.  
Others.

He'd made his own way home, refusing offers of lifts.  
He wanted to get back to Paul ... but not yet. Not yet.  
He needed wind down time. Time to re-build himself before it was all torn down again.  
His feet took him into a local pub where he sat and drank ... and drank.  
Far too much on a stomach that was empty.  
Later, stumbling home through familiar streets that seemed to bend strangely he kept taking off his glasses, wondering why they were steaming up ... or something .... 'cos he couldn't see properly ... and he felt odd ... empty. Empty stomach. Empty heart.

The shop was in darkness.  
Of course it was ... everything was dark. Including the sky.  
It must be ... be ... John squinted at his watch ... uh ... where his watch should have been. He'd not put it on 'cos the cuffs of Paul's shirt were too tight round his wrist.  
Instead he extracted the key from his pocket but the lock seemed to have been changed.  
The key wouldn't fit.  
He jiggled and wiggled and cursed but the bloody thing would not go in.  
Impatiently he yanked his phone out of his pocket to use as a light to see what the fuck was going on.  
He was met with about eight texts from Stu.  
It sobered him quickly.  
Forgetting all about the key and the door and the fact he was standing outside a darkened shop he opened the messages.

18.02 Do you have any idea what time you'll be back?  
18.16 Hi John are you picking up messages?  
18.27 Paul is still teaching. Should I just leave him and head back?  
18.53 Are you still in court?  
19.12 Paul's finished teaching. He's asking what time you'll be back.  
19.19 John ... answer me please.  
19.43 John, Paul's worried. Please answer.  
20.06 Don't want to leave Paul on his own but I have to go now. Astrid is expecting me. Text me asap let me know how you got on.

It was like a douse of cold water over his befuddled brain.  
What time was it?  
He willed his eyes to focus clearly on the phone.  
23.17.  
Shit!

The lights were on upstairs. John could see the glimmer of it underneath the door.  
A smell of cooking met him, but it was old ... cold .... stale ...  
Only the table lamp was lit, glimmering in the corner.  
And on the settee was Paul, curled up fast asleep, clutching John's t-shirt that he'd cast off earlier.  
John crossed the room in two strides, plonking himself down next to the slumbering figure.  
"Paul! Paul, I'm so sorry ... "  
Paul's eyes shot open, confusion crossing his face, then a wash of relief and ... anger ...   
"Fuckin' hell, John ... " he struggled to sit up, battling the soft cushions on his way " ... I've been so fuckin' worried. Where the fuck have you been? I texted Sean an' he said ... he said ... " Paul took a deep breath, his fists clenching. He stared hard at John. "Why didn't you text me? You've got a phone? I thought ... I thought maybe ... maybe ... "  
He never finished the sentence, just fisted John's shirt between his fingers (well, his shirt, really) alternately tugging then pushing, words failing him.  
John felt so contrite. "I'm sorry, babe, I'm sorry. I went for a drink."  
"Drink? Drink?" Paul's voice shot up a couple of octaves.  
He yanked John nearer him then pushed him away again.   
"A .. a fuckin' ... drink?"  
John tried to capture Paul but he was restless, shifting, moving.  
"I'm sorry, love, honest. Didn't mean to worry you. I honestly didn't."  
Paul heaved a sigh and sank his head on John's chest.  
"So fuckin' worried" he mumbled into the crumpled shirt.  
John snaked his fingers up into the back of Paul's hair rubbing soothingly.  
"Well, I'm home now. Have you eaten? I can smell cooking."  
Paul shook his head. John could feel the tip of his nose digging into his breastbone.  
" .. did .. s'gone .. cold .. didn't wanna ..."

John suddenly felt the weight of the world on his shoulders.  
It had been a fucking awful day. Absolutely draining.  
A world that he hadn't even been aware existed before, let alone on his doorstep here in Liverpool.  
"How did Paul escape being sold?" he'd queried.  
He'd heard Sean and Tom talking ... and someone else. Some other uniformed guy who often worked under cover. John had been introduced but had forgotten the name almost immediately.  
He saw Sean glance at Tom who glanced at whatsisname.  
Tom shrugged, clearing his throat.  
"Dunno, John."  
John didn't believe him.  
Tom shrugged again. "Complicated."  
"Try me."  
Tom looked at Sean who gave himself a shake.  
"Could be Paul was worth more to Luke than he would have made by selling him."  
Well that was blunt and it took a moment for the implications to sink in.  
"Financial gain?" John queried.  
"It's what drives most of these people, John."  
The other guy ... whatsisname ... looked across at John.  
"Afraid that's what it all tends to come down to. And you don't sell the best jewel in your crown. Anyway ... the others were all blonde haired and blue eyed. It's what they like."  
John frowned, totally puzzled. "What?"  
Tom and Sean both moved at the same time, as if expedited by the same thought.  
This conversation was moving into uncomfortable zones.  
Ones that were out of John's ken.  
John saw raw emotion on Sean's face as Tom struggled to cut the conversation short.  
"I don't get it ..."  
"No problem, John .. not your issue."  
"What d'you mean, blonde?"  
The other guy was looking strangely at John and had clammed up, realising he'd probably divulged far too much.  
Sean fiddled with the buttons on his cuffs as he said, in a low voice "Where they get shipped to, John, blonde hair and blue eyes is prized."  
John's insides twisted in horror.  
"So ... Paul escaped being sold because of his colouring?"  
It was Tom who replied as Sean seemed to be having a moment.  
"Not sure about that. I understand a few offers were made. It's just that Luke Stanton wasn't selling. He refused all offers."  
Jesus! That near. That near to losing Paul before he'd even met him.

John raked his fingers through Paul's tousled hair and felt the young man lean in ever closer.  
"You hungry?"  
Paul's fingers simply tightened in John's shirt, pulling him ever closer.  
Shouldn't have gone for a drink, John was admonishing himself.  
Shouldn't have left him.  
Just .... don't do that again.


	60. Chapter 60

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay ... this is it. The final chapter ... eek ... it is so hard to end this story. I've lived with these characters for over a year and they're all very real in my mind, but I feel it's time to draw it to a close. Thanks to all who've followed ... it's been a pleasure to have you along. I may ... no promises ... write the odd one off on all these characters if inspiration strikes ... meanwhile ... I'm just gonna go off into a corner and cry .....

John was woken by a crick in his neck and an arm that was dead. He blinked owlishly into the half light trying to pull his thoughts together. Where he was, what had happened.  
Where he was? Settee.  
What had happened? He'd fallen asleep, Paul on top of him, both still in their clothes.  
John groaned, easing his numb arm out from underneath his body .. or Paul's body ... whichever.  
It was getting light, although in July it always got light early, and John could see the outlines of the furniture coming into focus, the vivid painting over the fireplace.  
Once aware of the crick in his neck he became aware of other discomforts, like the weight of Paul on top of him, pressing onto a full bladder.  
John groaned again and tried to wriggle out of the bottom position.  
His head was pounding and his mouth was dry.  
And ... oh, Jesus ... he had to use these clothes again today. Fuck! Fuck, fuck, fuck.  
They probably smelt rank.  
Would Paul be willing to loan him another shirt?  
And ... well, yeah ... Paul. Also asleep fully clothed. Jesus he'd whinge at that. Always dressed smartly for work. John couldn't see why ... after all, he'd pointed out loads of times to the lad it was a retro record shop and he could just stick on t-shirt and jeans, but no ... Paul wouldn't go with that. Had to be shirt and tie and smart trousers. Said smart trousers that were now wrinkled and crushed and looking as if they'd been dragged through a hedge backwards ... as did their owner, who was still clutching John's cast off t-shirt.

"Paul ... Paul ... wake up, y' git!" John shoved him. Not easy to do with only one hand free and in the sub position.  
There was a stirring, a mumbling, and Paul just burrowed closer into John.  
He could, he considered, bring his legs up sharp but ... well, he didn't want to injure his husband's crown jewels.  
No, it had to be a vocal rousing.  
"PAUL!"  
Paul shot up, eyes wide and panicked, head doing a 360 degrees check.  
"What? What? What .... what ... what ... " He seemed incapable of further speech, clinging tightly to the t-shirt. That t-shirt.  
John idly wondered if maybe he could swap Paul one of his shirts for that t-shirt.  
And now Paul was staring at him, awaiting enlightenment.  
Apart from the fact that his bony knees were digging onto John's desperate bladder.  
John waved a suddenly free arm airily around.  
"We fell asleep" he announced.  
Paul checked out their position.  
Oh!  
His head was still full of dreams. Nice ones. Ones in which he'd been able to play lots of instruments at the same time.  
He let the dream go and blinked bemusedly at John.  
"Oh!"  
Then it sank in. He looked down at himself in horror.  
"Fuckin' hell, John, I'm still in me work clothes ... oh God, look at me trousers ... they're all creased. Jesus, they'll need pressing ... an' I've not cleaned my teeth or had a wash, an' ... an' ... "  
John grabbed his arm to ground him, halting the litany of woes.  
"Sssh, sssh, it's okay, you'll live."  
"What time is it?" Paul looked wildly round as if a clock might suddenly appear.  
John went to check his wrist, remembered he wasn't wearing a watch ... yeah, 'cos the cuffs of his borrowed shirt were too tight ... grappled in his pocket for his phone which ... well, just wasn't there ... and looked pointedly at Paul.  
"You're the one with a watch on, babe."  
Paul's mind was definitely on a go slow. It took a few seconds for John's words to sink in.  
He glanced at his right wrist. "Ten past four" he announced mournfully.  
He needed his sleep. He really did. He just couldn't function without a good eight hours behind him.  
Slowly other bits of the now previous day came back.  
Starting with the end.  
He looked accusingly at John.  
"You went for a drink."  
John grimaced. "Yeah, sorry about that, son."  
Paul huffed, kneeling up straighter on ... fuck ... John's bladder.  
"You never messaged me .... "  
Owwww ... this was painful. Really painful. "I know, love, I know, I got a bit bogged down ... "  
"I was worried. You could have rung me."  
John winced. "Yeah, I could have. Paul, I need ..."  
"I cooked a meal."  
Wow ... well, that halted John. Really?  
He pulled back, gazing into Paul's eyes. "Really?"  
Paul saw the disbelief. If he wasn't so annoyed he would have smiled.  
"Yeah, really, and ... and it's gone cold now."  
"That was so thoughtful of you, babe."  
Paul's eyes softened.  
"Was it awful?"  
John reached forward and stroked Paul's cheek gently.  
"Could have been worse."  
Paul chewed his bottom lip.  
He didn't want to know ... yes, he did ... but ... no ... not really. He wanted to forget everything.  
He flopped back down heavily onto John who emitted a groan.  
"Have you gotta go back again?"  
John nodded, biting his lip to stop himself from crying out in agony.  
"Yes" he whispered through clenched teeth " I have."

Exhibit D.  
That was Paul.  
Never referred to by name in order to respect his privacy.  
But, for the sake of the trial, he was Exhibit D.  
Partly because of ... John gritted his teeth ... those fuckin' photographs.  
But also as a .... participant? .... victim? .... of everything that had gone on.  
Of which he was a small, but significant, in John's mind, obviously, part.  
Vaguely he wondered if Exhibits A, B and C might just happen to be the other three lads who'd gone missing?  
He could ask, he guessed ... ask Tom or Sean maybe?  
But ... then again ... he wasn't supposed to be privy to such information. He was aware of the fact that because they knew him, knew Steve and had a soft spot for Paul that more had been let slip than was usual, and he didn't want to overstep the mark. He was here to do a job and that was to make sure that justice was done for Paul. With that thought in mind he set himself to focus solely on that goal.

But the questions .... so pertinent.  
So ... personal.  
Invasive.  
When he found himself stuttering at one point under the opposition's grilling he steeled himself.  
Get a hold, Lennon.  
This is Paul you're fighting for.  
He came out of the courtroom feeling like a wet rag wrung dry.  
Tom silently handed him a strong sweet coffee.  
He hated it but ... Jesus ... he needed it.

And then, suddenly, it was over.  
One moment they'd been fighting, next moment ... victory was theirs.  
Tom and Sean were hugging each other, their mouths wide in identical grins.  
They'd put so much of themselves into this case, and they felt validated.  
John was ... well, numb.  
He didn't know how he'd expect to feel really.  
Not this, though.  
"Not sunk in yet" Tom patted him on the back.  
"You did well. Paul'd be proud of you" Sean added.  
Had he done well?  
Talk about Daniel in the lion's den.  
He sat, stunned, on an uncomfortable leather seat while all around him mayhem happened.  
The press, so long held back, were like a pack of hounds, sniffing out every detail.  
Paul's protected, John reminded himself.  
"He is, isn't he?" John blurted out, looking worriedly at Sean.  
Sean's face softened at the obvious concern. "He is, John" he reassured.

When John arrived back at the shop it was closed, shutters down. A late summer sun backlit the sign 'Retro Records'.  
He squared his shoulders.   
Paul would probably have lots of questions ... or ... not.  
One was never sure which way the apple would fall.  
It was quiet as he let himself in, the alarm giving a warning bleep. He swiftly punched in the necessary digits and took a moment to collect himself.  
Tom and Sean had insisted he went for a drink with them to celebrate. Conscious of the outcome of the previous night he went on the proviso it was just one. Of course, it hadn't been. It had been two or ... well, three, even if the third had been only a half.   
He had, however, messaged Paul to let him know. So hopefully the lad wouldn't be having a meltdown.  
Indeed, as John quietly climbed the stairs, it seemed very quiet. Not even a radio playing. Paul always had a radio on. He surrounded himself with music, like an aura.  
Gently, John pushed open the door into the lounge, and Paul turned swiftly, his face lighting up with relief at the sight of John. The music magazine he'd been reading dropped, forgotten, from his fingers. And then he was in John's arms, breathing his name, melting into the embrace.

"What a welcome" John smiled, pulling back, scanning Paul's face for any sign of anxiety.  
Paul was studying him equally carefully.  
"I missed you" Paul said simply.  
John pushed back that errant bit of dark hair that was determinedly curling round Paul's ear.  
"Well, I'm here now."  
He saw Paul lick his lips, poised to ask, afraid to ... unsure. Uncertain.  
Not quite knowing how to, Paul simply leaned back in to John's arms, relishing the comfort.  
John ran his fingers up the knobbly spine, into the dark hair.  
"We won, babe" he whispered into the shell of Paul's ear.  
He felt him go still, rigid within his arms. Breath held.  
John tightened his arms, willing him to hang on, willing him to breathe.  
"They're going down, each and every one of 'em. Some for five, some for fifteen."  
He felt Paul's breath catch, felt his head move on his shoulder, soft dark hair tickling his cheek.  
"Never bloody come out if I had my way" John muttered.  
His hand moved of it's own accord, threading it's way into the thick hair.  
Paul was so still ... John wasn't sure how he'd reacted at all.   
How he was feeling.  
John just proceeded to hold him gently, unconsciously rocking them both to an unheard beat.  
While he gave Paul time to get himself together ... without doubt there were a few emotions in turmoil at the moment ... John drew in little aspects of the flat they'd made their home. A scented candle was burning on the mantelpiece and also, John noted with a start, the table was set for two. Which impelled him to notice the smell of food emanating from the kitchen area. He gave the figure in his arms a squeeze.  
"Have you been cooking?"  
Paul pulled back to survey him, eyes suspiciously bright but chin firm.  
"Yeah, I have" he breathed softly.  
"Serious?"  
Paul went to bat him playfully but his fingers fell short of their target and he stifled a sob, clamping his lips tightly shut.  
John tugged him back into his arms.  
"Let it go, babe ... it's over. It's all over."

 

Epilogue

Eight months later.

The March wind was howling down the back street where the record shop was situated, people hanging on to coats, hats, bags, propelled along by the gusts. Bits of paper ... Paul wondered where they came from? ... billowed and took on their own shapes as they flew the currents like lost birds. He bent his head back to the accounts he was making a quick note of while they were fresh in his mind. It was only too easy, he knew, to forget what had transpired. Chewing his lip, he jotted down a couple of items, only glancing up when the door suddenly banged open, caught by a vicious gust and a customer who was, literally, blown in.

Paul's breath caught.  
The gentleman had the grace to look embarrassed, shuffling slightly, but with an air of determination about his presence.  
Paul pushed down his panic, straightened up, making his face a blank mask.  
"Hello, how can I help you?"

"Paul."

Paul hesitated, although his face didn't betray a flicker of emotion.  
Not coincidence, then. Planned.

Planned indeed it was. Three previous times Mark had turned up at the little shop hoping to catch Paul on his own. The first time there had been a steady stream of customers. That was just before Christmas. Trying again a month later, Mark had peered in the shop window to see John chatting to a couple of guys and no sign of Paul. Each time he drew a negative Mark's nerve would fail him, and it would take him a few more weeks to pluck up the courage to try again. He remembered that Paul taught later in the day, so going after four o'clock was no use, and it was quite a way out for him to do a return trip unless he juggled a longer lunch hour, so no visit could be spur of the moment. It had to be planned.  
The simplest thing to do would be forget about it all. He was fairly sure Paul would want to. But his conscience wouldn't let it rest. The third time of trying he'd seen both John and Paul together in the shop. It obviously wasn't going to be easy to catch Paul on his own.

But time wasn't on his side. Soon he would be leaving Liverpool with, probably, very slim chance of ever returning. If he didn't do this, he'd regret it for the rest of his life. He knew he would. Steeling himself to try again, Mark had arrived at the shop and peered in the window, delighted and yet apprehensive at the sight of Paul on his own. He couldn't back out now.

Mark's feet carried him swiftly across the small floor space to the counter.  
"Paul..." he repeated, and trailed off.  
He'd never planned a speech.

The young man in front of him was a far cry from the young lad he recalled.  
Tall, upright, smartly dressed, meeting Mark's gaze from level cool green eyes.  
The only give away that Paul was nervous was the bob of his Adam's apple as he swallowed.  
In a way Mark found that comforting, as he was nervous too.

"Paul, I ... I wanted to say I'm sorry."

Paul fiddled with the pen he was holding in his left hand, and, noting the action, Mark's eyes landed on the simple silver band that encircled Paul's ring finger.  
He'd married, then. Presumably John. Well ... good luck to them. They deserved it.

"I'm going away with work, going to live in Guildford, and I'm not likely to be back here again. I just ... " Mark shook his head. "I should have done something to stop all that going on. I'm just sorry I didn't have the guts to."

Paul never replied, just watched, a slight blush of colour beginning to stain his cheeks.

In the light of such silence, Mark backed off. He'd said what he wanted to say and he was sorry. Desperately sorry. Paul probably didn't like being reminded of such a past, though.

He took a couple of steps towards the door. "I just wanted to say that, y' know. Couldn't go without ... well, saying sorry. I wish you all the best."  
He ducked his head, letting go Paul's gaze, and turned for the door.

Paul's voice stopped him.

"Wait!!"

Mark turned, surprised.

Paul was gazing at him earnestly, almost desperately, fighting the embarrassment he felt.

"Do you .. do .. " he licked his lips, the unspoken question demanding to be asked. His one chance to find out. " ... do you know who ... who got me out? Who it was who helped me escape?"

Mark's heart sank. Paul was looking at him so hopefully, and he wished he could say yes. He wished he could give him this. He remembered the talk .. the shock ... the whispers that had gone round. 'Paul's gone ... have you heard? .. straight under Luke's nose ... someone must have ...' and the questions. Who could have? Who would dare?

Mark shook his head. "I'm sorry. So sorry. I have no idea."

He saw Paul's face fall, eyes downcast, recalling control. Then he nodded.   
"Okay .. just wondered" he said softly.

Mark hesitated, but there was nothing more to say.  
He offered the semblance of a smile. Half-hearted. Apologetic.  
He wished he could have helped Paul. Offered something, at least.  
As the door closed to behind him he let out a sigh.  
He'd done what he'd set out to do.

"Tea ... here y' go."  
The door had hardly closed behind Mark before John was there, two steaming mugs of brew in his hands.  
He frowned slightly. Paul seemed ... distracted ... and he was sure he'd heard voices while he was making them tea.  
"Customer?" he asked lightly while holding onto his frown.  
Paul blinked at him. Customer?  
It would take too much explaining.  
Much easier to lie ... or, in this case, agree.  
"Oh ... yeah."  
John placed the mugs down on the counter and looked more closely at Paul.  
"You okay babe?"  
Paul smiled. "Yeah, I'm fine."  
John snaked his arms around him, pulling him close, nuzzling the sensitive part of Paul's neck.  
"You sure?"  
A surge of warmth flooded through Paul, and he'd never been more certain in his life.  
He leaned in close to John, hugging him back.  
"Absolutely sure" he replied.


End file.
